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WHEN WISHING MUSIC ■ THINK OF US 

WE HAVE IT 


PIANOS PIANOLA ■ PIANOS 

Steinway Steinway 

Ivers & Pond Weber 

Ludwig Steck 

Weber Stroud 

And others to fit every And Others Sold on Easy 
Purse Payments 



METROPOLITAN MUSIC CO. 

41-43 South Sixth Street Minneapolis, Minn. 










A LOVELY “HEATHEN” 

WHY THE MISSIONARIES 
WENT TO HAWAII 









THE HEATHEN AUTHOR 



HAWAIIAN 

HEATHEN 

AND 

OTHERS 


BY 

G. L. MORRILL 

("GOLIGHTLY ”) 


PASTOR OF PEOPLE’S CHURCH, 
Minneapolis, Minn., U. S. A. 


LOWELL L. MORRILL 

PHOTOGRAPHER 








.tu 


Copyright 1919 
G. L. MORRILL 


DEDICATED 

TO 

LUELLA R. EMMANS 
WHOSE 

FRIENDLY HOSPITALITY 
WE HAVE 

OFTEN ENJOYED ON THE 
BEACH AT WAIKIKI 



LITERARY CRIMES BY G. L. MORRILL 


Musings 

Driftwood 

Upper Cuts 

The Moralist 

Easter Echoes 

On The Warpath 

Here and There 

People’s Pulpit 

Fireside Fancies 

A Musical Minister 

Parson’s Pilgrimage 

The Devil in Mexico 

South Sea Silhouettes 

Tracks of a Tenderfoot 

Golightly ’Round The Globe 

To Hell and Back—South America 

Rotten Republics—Central America 








PROLOGOS 


’Tis said that Xenophon, overhearing Soc¬ 
rates talking to two Athenian citizens, plucked 
him by the sleeve and said: (< Your discourse 
is admirable; you have spoken better than an 
oracle; but you have ruined yourself: one of 
these men is a butcher, who sells sheep and 
geese for the sacrifices; and the other is a gold¬ 
smith, who gains great sums by making little 
gods of silver and copper for the ladies. They 
will accuse you of impiety for having endeav¬ 
ored to lessen their profits. They will swear 
against you before Melitus and Anitus, your 
enemies, who have conspired your ruin. Take 
care of the hemlock.” 




CONTENTS 


Page 

My Last Will and Testament. 1 
The Department of Injustice.. 4 


Democratic Despots . 6 

Furred Law-Cats . 9 

A Prostituted Press. 13 

Railroad Raillery . 15 

Political Apron-Strings . 18 

Inn Bad. 19 

Santa Fetishism . 20 

Heartless Sisters . 23 

A Divine Dump . 24 

Churchly Cutthroats . 25 

Inauguration Remarks . 28 

Artifice and Art. 30 

Bloody Penitentes . 31 

Pestilential Piety . 34 

Knights of Columbus . 36 

Who Was Columbus?. 37 

City Sights . 42 

A Spanish Palace . 44 

An Arctic Expedition . 46 

Cave Men and Communism.. 48 
Snow-bound Among the In¬ 
dians . 50 

The Kiva . 52 

Savage Virtues . 53 

Visit with Upton Sinclair. 56 

A Lincoln Warning . 57 

Vulgar, Vicious Vernon. 58 

Theodore Roosevelt . 60 

Plagues . 62 

A South Sea Princess. 70 

The Red-Tape Worm . 71 

Donkey Worship . 74 


Page 


All Is Vanity . 75 

Travel . 76 

An Ocean “Enterprise”. 78 

At Last! . 83 

Soapbox Boats . 84 

Aloha! . 84 

Adventures of a Night. 86 

The Napoleon of Hawaii.88 

Knocking About Kohala.89 

Heathen Sacrifice . 91 

A Cowpuncher’s Paradise.... 97 

A Lava Landscape. 99 

Drowsy Kailua .100 

Tabus .101 

Landmarks .106 

Cave of Refuge .107 

Tale of Two Towns.109 

Kapiolani, Hawaii’s Heroine..Ill 

Voices of the Night.112 

Three Men in a Canoe.113 

The Crime of Captain Cook.. 114 

Royal Stiffs .118 

At End of Rope.118 

City of Refuge .119 

A Niagara of Lava.122 

Pick-ups .123 

Path to Perdition .124 

Volcano Vaporings .125 

A Shame .129 

Jungle Jottings .131 

A Black Beach .132 

Nature Study .133 

Temple of the Red Mouth... .133 
Kalapana .135 































































CONTENTS 


Continued 


Page 

Music and Moonlight .135 

Along the Coast .136 

All About Hilo .138 

Kahuna Wizards .142 

World-Wide Witchcraft .147 

Criminal Craft .155 

Mountain Climbing .155 

The House of the Sun.158 

Clouds .160 

Down and Out .165 

“Swipes” .165 

Maui Meanderings .166 

Iao Valley .167 

Sugar vs. Scholarship.168 

Lazy Lahaina .171 

Half-Drowned .175 

Molokai .177 

Moral and Physical Lepers... 182 

Good-Bye! .188 

Buffeting the Billows .189 

Waimea Canyon .190 

Barking Sands and Blow 

Hole .192 

A Thrilling Trip .193 

Life Among the Hawaiians... 194 

Covering Kauai .197 

Starved .198 

Climate Cranks .199 

Jail-Birds .200 

The Madhouse .202 


Page 

Around Oahu .204 

Hell’s Preparatory School.... 205 

A Mormon Colony .206 

Profane Falls .208 

Ad Libbytum.210 

Japanized Hawaii .211 

Chinese Atrocities .214 

Gambling and Opium.215 

Good Bad Girls .218 

The Hula Hula.219 

Honolulu Characters .223 

God Is Not Mocked.225 

Stealing the Hawaiian 

Islands .226 

Christless Churches .228 

The Golden Calf .230 

Political Bums .234 

On the Beach at Waikiki.236 

Island Illiteracy .238 

Unmoral Past .240 

Immoral Present .244 

Fighting the Devil .247 

Literary Masterpieces.248 

Withering Leaves .249 

Farewell to Hawaii.250 

The Log of the “Makura”.. .251 

Canadian Cities .253 

Mountains .254 

America .265 























































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND “MOVING” 
PICTURES 


A Lovely “Heathen”—Why the Missionaries Went to 

Hawaii .Frontispiece 

The Heathen Author, 

Coyote Sport, New Mexico. 

Cave Dwelling Tsankawi, New Mexico. 

Pueblo Belles, San Idlefonso, N. M. 

Indian Kiva, San Idlefonso, N. M. 

Hawaiian Curios. 

Strangulation Stone, Kahaluu, Hawaii. 

Captain Cook Monument, Hawaii. 

Heathen Temple, Napoopo, Hawaii . 

Sleeping Beauty. 

City of Refuge, Hawaii. 

Lava Overflowing, Kilauea, Hawaii. 

Kanaka Grave, Puna., Hawaii. 

Kahuna Wizard, Hilo ,Hawaii. 

Native Nymph. 

World’s Largest Extinct Crater, Haleakala, Maui. 

Japanese Cane Girl with the Hoe, Maui. 

“The Needle,” Iao Valley, Maui. 

The Waterfront, Lahaina, Maui. 

Molokai Landscape. 

Poi-Pounders, Halawa, Molokai. 

Leper Settlement. 

Molokai Lepers 
A Leprous Priest. 

A Kauai Canyon. 

Weaving Mats, Hanalei, Kauai. 

On The Beach at Waikiki. 

Surf-Boarders, Waikiki. 

Hula Girl. 

Jap “Picture Brides,” Honolulu, 

.A Dusky Eve. 




Fellow Heathen and Hypocrites! 

This book is written by one who cherishes the fondest 
hopes for your race, and it is his sacred wish to bequeath 
to posterity, in his humble works, a faithful description 
and history of your most beautiful beliefs and progress¬ 
ive institutions. 

Bless you all, wherever you dwell, in Europe, Asia, 
Africa, America, or the uttermost isles of the sea! 

Burn incense to pagan, religious and political gods! 

Butcher your brother man! 

Perpetuate the glory of the greatest criminals! 

Build palaces for lovers of gold and debauchery, and 
prisons for Truth, Mercy, Virtue and Justice! 

Persecute the honest, the poor and the weak! 

Sacrifice all to malice and rage! 

Spread plague and superstition over the world! 

And when you pass from this world to the next. Earth 
will be glad to commemorate you, Heaven to welcome 
you, fellow hypocrites, and Hell happy to entertain you, 
fellow heathen! 


—Golightlv. 


FOREWORD 


Heine says that when Luther was translating the New 
Testament , the great reformer was so much disturbed by the 
devil , that he threw the ink stand at his head. The devil has 
since that day had a great dread of ink , and a still greater 
dread of printing ink • 



HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 

AND OTHERS 


MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT 


EFORE buying tickets to ride on the IT. S. Government 
Railroads I made my last will and testament—accord¬ 
ing to some, ill-will and detestament. 

Death is natural as life—one should not fear it 
but be ready when it comes. Preparedness is the 
great lesson of the late war. Some people do not think it 
necessary to prepare to die because everyone always succeeds 
the first time. Recently I read of a French woman who was 
on her death-bed and was visited by a friend to whom she 
said as she pressed his hand, “Good evening, my dear, I am 
going to see if God improves on acquaintance/’ But alas, 
how many there are who have not even been introduced to 
Him and will not know the court etiquette of heaven, if they 
ever get there! 

When I leave this earth I leave— 

My soul to God: 

My body to the undertaker to bury or burn, whichever 
may be cheaper: 

My love to my enemies: 

My possessions to my family and friends: 

The story of my life to the forgetfulness of mankind: 

My clothes to the Salvation Army: 

My books on religion to the Civic and Commerce Asso¬ 
ciation : 

My Bible to the churches to get some Christianity: 

The books I have written to the church of Rome to be 
used as propaganda tracts among its members: 



1 





2 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


My auto to the junkman to sell for old iron to pay my 
garage bill: 

My newspapers and magazines to the waste-basket: 

My chisel and hammer to Freedom to knock off the 
shackles that bind her: 

My ink “well” to Truth: 

My appetite to the starving: 

My alarm-clock to the Post Office Department: 

Medicinal liquors to prohibitionists for judicious use: 

My art pictures and travel lecture slides to the Blind 
Asylum: 

My pianola and music to the Deaf Institute: 

My colored spectacles to Justice: 

My electric fixtures to Darkest Africa and America: 

My vacuum-cleaner to the heads of Washington Govern¬ 
ment departments: 

My house and lot to tax-collectors: 

My kodaks to stay-at-homes: 

My razors to my colored friends: 

My shoes to the ashman, for none will care to stand in 
them: 

My bank account of $2.35 to the Rockefeller Institute for 
the promotion of gasoline prices throughout the globe: 

My beds to the Police-Department: 

My hand-mirror to John Lind to see himself as others see 
him: 

The mud on my back-door step and the odor of my auto 
to some of the newspaper reporters: 

My dog’s muzzle to the press: 

My kisses for brides, and tears and flowers for the dead: 

My best wishes and blessings to the jails: 

My flour bin to Hoover and the rats: 

My easy chair to the Minneapolis mayor: 

The dust and cobwebs in my cellar to the Constitution, 
Declaration of Independence, the Bible and the world’s great 
literature: 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


3 


My vices to the virtuous: 

My virtues to the vicious: 

Hawaiian Islands to Japan and the Sugar Trust: 

The ocean to Great Britain: 

The world to Wilson: 

The rivers and lakes to the brewers: 

Bartholdi’s Statue of the Goddess of Liberty to the British 
Museum to be placed in the collection of antiquities: 

Fogs and clouds to Congress: 

The sky to factories to soil with soot: 

War books to the Insane Asylum: 

Civilization to the heathen: 

Europe to the Devil: 

A box-seat in Hell for the Kaiser: 

Doctors and death to the hospitals: 

Time—for Improvement: 

Eternity to the Government Express Companies 
Heaven to church-goers only: 

Moon to spooners: 

Stars to movies: 

Sun to Heaven: 

Air to the birds and T. B.’s: 

Deserts to irrigation and desolation: 

Ease to the rich: 

Work to the poor: 

Forests to timber wolves and thieves: 

Mines to wild-cat schemes and steel speculators: 

Tobacco and cigarets to Y. M. C. A., Red Cross and K. C. 
workers: 

Fame to military murderers: 

Honor to thieves: 

Jealousy to woman: 

Inhumanity to man: 

Genius to starvation and misery; 




4 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Mountains to tourists: 

Volcanoes to smoke: 

Money, jobs and honor to our soldier boys: 

History to liars: 

Old Glory to float over every school: 

The Cross to those who follow the Redeemer’s footsteps. 

THE DEPARTMENT OF INJUSTICE 

EFORE starting on my adventures, I was summoned, 
one dreary December morning last year, by the De¬ 
partment of Injustice to appear before the United 
States Investigating Committee. I entered the Fed¬ 
eral Building with its modern suggestions of the French 
Bastile, and of the prisons in Venice with dungeons an d de¬ 
pression, and was informed that the following letter had been 
seized and opened on the Mexican border by U. S. censors, and 
forwarded to Bielaski at Washington who had ordered an 
investigation of its seditious contents: 

Luis Trechuelo, October 30, 1918. 

The Texas Oil Co., 

Agua Dulce Works, 

P. 0. Box 191, 

Tampico, Tamps, Mexico. 

My Dear Mr. Trechuelo:— 

I sent you a copy of my Mexico book last March which I 
have just learned has been held here in the Post Office on 
account of alleged “obscenity”—the real reason was dirty 
Democratic politics. In June I sent you another copy by 
express prepaid and have just .learned, four months later, that 
the book was held at New York, but that if I paid $2.00 more 
it would be sent on. I told the Express Co. to send the book 
back to me at my expense, not only to save you expense, but 
since I doubted that the book would ever reach you. Of such 
delay, inefficiency and injustice I think it would be hard for 
even Mexico to furnish a more shining example. 

My book, “On The Warpath,” which you ordered, I sent 
you by mail—let me know if it ever reaches you. 

Enclosed find the dollar you sent for Mexico book. 

Sincerely yours, 

(Signed) G. L. MORRILL 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


5 


The Federal Inquisitor asked me if I meant what I wrote. 
“Yes, and more too,” I replied. With the high dignity of 
his office, he inquired if I did not know we were at war. “Not 
with Mexico,” I said, “though I wish we were and would clean 
them out, and the whole gringo-hating gang from the Rio 
Grande to Patagonia.” “Don’t you know that the motto of 
every patriotic American is, ‘My country, right or wrong’?” 
he exclaimed. I replied, “No, not for me. As a Christian 
citizen it is ‘My country right or wrong, and if wrong to try 
and make it right’. ” While he paused to take in an idea he 
had never yet dreamed of, I took advantage of the silence to 
become the Inquisitor and said: “Do you mean to tell me that 
if the government at Washington declares that 4 + 1 = 6, I 
am to say 6?” “Most assuredly,” he replied with warmth. 
In the spirit of David’s imprecatory Psalm against God’s 

enemies I shot hack the reply: “That’s a d-lie; 4 -f- 2 = 6 

in the United States and everywhere else. That’s what I 
believe and say and will continue to affirm. I’d rather go to 
Leavenworth for life for telling the truth than to the hell of 
my mother’s Bible which says, ‘AH liars shall have their part 
in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone’.” 

Then I told him I had been defamed, defrauded and de¬ 
barred from doing my church work by a Government Adminis¬ 
tration that had an I. W. W. at his head—letters which ego¬ 
tistically stood for, “I, Woodrow Wilson.” I further said 
my manuscript of “The Devil in Mexico” had been stolen by 
a German spy, Richard P. Esswein, an employe of the U. S. 
government, who told one of my friends he had orders from 
Washington to purloin the manuscript, and that if he had 
not secured it he would have lost his job. He further affirmed 
he was ashamed of what he had done, that I was innocent of 
wrong, and he was sorry he had been a political tool. Further 
I informed him that during my absence to the coast my house 
was broken into and all my private papers searched. If some 
one should tell me today that the Government had broken in 
to steal, I would not doubt it. 

The poll-parroting official excused the Department’s meth¬ 
ods while I denied them in toto, saying, “The end does not 
justify the means, though some of the graduates of the Jesuit 
College at Washington, near and next to the president, say so.” 



6 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Such, methods are most commendable in Hell—or the Depart¬ 
ment of Justice. 

This was enough information for one visit and the official 
interrupted me saying he had only done his duty and merely 
wanted an explanation of the treasonable letter. I was a busy 
man, and since I hadn’t time to tell him all I thought of his 
Department and censorship, I gave him a copy of my book, 
“On The Warpath,” which flays alive the Post Office, Depart¬ 
ment of Justice and Bureau of Censorship. 

DEMOCRATIC DESPOTS 

URLESON’S spies were very quick to see, seize and 
censor my innocent letter to a Mexican book sub¬ 
scriber, but were blind to paid half-page newspaper 
ads of a Mexican bullfight appearing in U. S. papers, 
since bullfighting, where they kill men, horses and bulls, is 
such a refining spectacle. It is especially proper, for there was 
money in it for the Texas newspapers that uphold Mr. Burle¬ 
son in his hold up schemes, making him a close rival to the 
most despised man in the United States. In the great work 
of American politics today we have hair-splitters instead of 
rail-splitters. 

Burleson cannot monopolize the wrecking business, for he 
is in the government wrecking class which includes Gregory, 
McAdoo, Bielaski, Creel and many others. McAdoo leaves 
the railroads in bankruptcy, Burleson gives us the worst tele¬ 
phone and telegraph service for the most money, and the 
others, to justify their existence, do wrong rather than nothing 
at all. These pygmies think they are Caesar, Charlemagne or 
Napoleon. Today, like rats, they are deserting the ship of state, 
which, with its present pilots, is going as fast as possible to the 
devil. 

Physician, heal thyself. Dr. Wilson goes to Europe to 
settle the affairs of the world, and we are left at home in 
trouble wdth Mexico, San Domingo, Costa Rica, Peru and Chili 
on our hands. We have a melting pot here without being 
thrown into the melting pot of the Old World. 








COYOTE SPORT, NEW MEXICO 











CAVE D’vVELLING, TSANKAWI, N. M 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


7 


It is easy now for government officials, with the excuse of 
duty to their country, to joy-ride here and abroad at our 

expense, to go not once but often, and with their whole d- 

family and relatives to see and be seen. Their chief occupation 
is dining out. There’s a prevalent suspicion at home that the 
more Europeans see them the less they will think of us 
Americans. 

According to our Constitution: “No title of nobility shall 
be granted by the United States. And no person holding any 
office of profit or trust under them, shall, without the consent 
of Congress, accept of any presents, emoluments, office or title 
of any kind whatever from any king, prince or foreign state. ’ ’ 
What of it? The president calls on Pope Benedict and is pre¬ 
sented with a $40,000 gift—a costly Mosaic. This is superflu¬ 
ous. Is he not already sufficiently composite, has he not 
pushed the great Mosaic laws aside with his fourteen com¬ 
mandments ? 

To cover up its fiasco, graft and scandal, and to deny the 
charge that the Administration had functioned slowly during 
the war, F. R. Wilson wrote a letter to the movie hero, Doug¬ 
las Fairbanks, asking him to appear in a picture as “official 
fool-killer” where he was to listen to all critics of the Ad¬ 
ministration and then turn around and wallop them as he had 
the Kaiser. It was a great party scheme and the president’s 
secretary tumultuously said, “Amen!” 

By picture, press, voice and every possible way, the Demo¬ 
cratic party has lost no opportunity to mislead the citizens of 
this country, make vice appear as virtue, extravagance as 
economy, graft as charity, imbecility as intelligence and parti¬ 
sanship as patriotism. And who pays the bills? Europe 
plays the prodigal son and Father Uncle Sam pays. We lend 
hundreds of millions to European nations at four and five per 
cent and tax our own people to get the money which they are 
forced to borrow at six per cent. We are tired of pickpocket 
politics. How long will 90 per cent of the people allow them¬ 
selves to be plundered by the other 10 per cent! 

When thinking of some modern European Alliances, “open 
covenants openly arrived at,” I recall a philosopher’s definition 
of international politics as the union of several thieves whose 
hands are so deeply placed in each other’s pockets that they 
cannot individually rob another party. It would make a skull 



8 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


smile to hear the various nations boasting that they were fight¬ 
ing for freedom and civilization—that is, their brand of free¬ 
dom and civilization. “Let slip the dogs of war” was the cry, 
and now each kennel-master of Great Britain, France and 
United States yelps, “My dog won the war!” But is no praise 
and prize to be given to Mephisto’s phosphorescent pup ? 

The cackling of geese saved the Capitol of Rome—but the 
cackling of our Washington Capitol geese will never save the 
United States. 

Heaven’s house is not built according to earthly plans. 
What we call a parlor here may be a garret there. It might 
be well for the president, judge, the editor, the preacher, pro¬ 
fessor, scientist and politician to remember it is barely possible 
that God has different ideas than theirs. 

Some soldiers are very brave after the battle—some hunters 
will kick a dead lion—thousands are now on the band wagon 
making noise with voice and pen, who three years ago were 
afraid to say their souls were their own, and criticised me for 
referring to the czars and despots at the head of our various 
government departments, and for calling them by name. These 
moral cowards in city and country regarded official names as 
sacrosanct and the men as ineffable as the person and name 
of Jehovah. Well, I’m glad now, no matter what it cost, that 
I was a voice and not an echo, that I led and did not follow, 
that I did not sell my soul. I did what I thought was right 
and was willing to take the consequences, although govern¬ 
ment officials attempted to terrorize me with silence as the 
Japs did the Koreans. 

The Scripture says, “Be still and know that I am God.” 
This was the attitude of some of our Pooh-Bah politicians. 
’Twas blasphemy to question their fulminations and ululations, 
treason to think, shocking to speak, wicked to will and devilish 
to do. They set up a rival claim of Papal infallibility. Sitting 
upon the heights of incarnate wisdom they predicated to them¬ 
selves all the divine attributes of omniscience and omnipotence. 
Many of our cabinet heads are jokes—but then, you know, 
people even get tired of their best amusements. 

Suppression of honest speech during the war was unjust, 
unwise, and unnecessary, resulting in stagnation of thought. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


9 


To sit on the safety valve invites explosion. The real wreckers 
of the government are not the few labor agitators, but the lazy 
higher-ups who seek to suppress free thought, free speech and 
free press. 

Those who stand up for the poor and downtrodden are con¬ 
sidered a menace. If you show pity or indignation for them, 
the doors of the jail open for you. 

Nearly three years ago I visited Mexico and on my return 
wrote a book entitled, “The Devil in Mexico.” Because I 
made some so-called lese majeste remarks about the govern¬ 
ment in Mexico and Washington officials—not “lese” truth or 
humanity—I was arrested by our Federal government; in¬ 
dicted by the Federal government; held on $3,000 bail for a 
year; my passports were confiscated without a reason given; 
was barred from leaving the U. S. for South America on a 
health trip; was calumniated, lied about, libeled and robbed by 
this same government. Yet the Federal government was afraid 
to bring my case to trial, nolled it, threw it out, saying there 
was nothing to it. But it made no reparation for the wrong, and 
furnished no public explanation or excuse to the public press 
that the declaration of my innocence might be as wide-spread 
as the headline statement of my ‘ ‘ guilt. ’ ’ 

At this writing the U. S. Post Office Despotism, presided 
over by a Southern slave-driving, labor-hating autocrat, Mr. 
Burleson, has refused to return my books to me which it held 
in November, 1917, or to send them to the addressees, or to 
refund the postage on them—ALTHOUGH its slanderous in¬ 
dictment of “obscenity” against me, on which charge the 
books were held, was quashed last December. Is there any 
redress for this injustice? Perhaps not on earth. It is often 
better to abandon one’s rights here than defend them by law. 


FURRED LAW-CATS 

' Hooker’s “Ecclesiastical Polity,” Law may have 

“her seat in the bosom of God,” but not on the earth, 
fcgfwng One gets little from law but disappointment and des- 
|§|g|jJ peration, seldom justice. There are many laws but lit¬ 
tle justice. If a man knows the law there is nothing illegal he 
cannot do when he likes. The Greeks called the laws the daugh- 
ters of heaven—today they are the furies of hell. 





10 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


John Romilly declared the judicial system in England was 
“a technical system invented for the creation of costs.” Her¬ 
bert Spencer says: “The institution which should succor the 
man who has fallen among thieves, turns him over to solicitors, 
barristers, and a legion of law-officers; drains his purse for 
writs, briefs, affidavits, subpoenas, fees of all kinds and ex¬ 
penses innumerable; involves him in the intricacies of common 
courts, chancery courts, suits, counter-suits, and appeals, and 
often ruins where it should aid.” 

There is nothing in the law statutes so senseless and unjust 
but some judge will swear it is Gospel truth. A noted Ameri¬ 
can, referring to the “noble profession” of the law, says: “A 
lawyer is one whose profession it is to circumvent the law; it is 
a part of his business to mislead and befog the court of which 
he is an officer; it is considered right and reasonable for him 
to live by a division of the spoils of crime and misdemeanor; the 
utmost atonement he ever makes for acquitting a man he knows 
to be guilty is to convict a man whom he knows to be innocent. 
The laws are mostly made by lawyers, and so made as to encour-\ 
age and compel litigation. By lawyers they are interpreted and 
by lawyers enforced by their own profit and advantage. The 
over-intricate and interminable machinery of precedent, over¬ 
rulings, writs of error, motions for new trials, appeals, revers¬ 
als, affirmations and the rest of it is mostly a transparent and 
iniquitous system of exaction.” 

I would have to be a millionaire to be able to pay the fine 
for the contempt I have of some courts. 

When I was “nolled” and free I felt as happy to get away 
from “Attorney-Land,” as Panurge and Friar John did to 
escape from the island of “Furred Law-Cats” and “Island of 
Fools.” Yet one cannot elude the clutch of the Law unless, 
like Panurge, he gives gold. The “Furred Law-Cats” have 
long sharp claws, waste, imprison and ruin all without the 
least notice of right or wrong. “For among them vice is called 
virtue; wickedness piety; treason loyalty; robbery justice. 
Plunder is their motto and when acted by them is approved 
by all men except the heretics. They live in corruption and 
all this they do because they dare; their authority is sovereign 
and irrefragable.” Rabelais’ picture of Justice “Gripe-men- 
all” is not overdrawn: “The hands of this dreadful monster 
were full of gore, his talons like those of the harpies, his snout 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


11 


like a hawk's bill, his fangs or tusks like those of an over¬ 
grown brindle wild boar; his eyes were flaming like the jaws 
of hell, all covered with mortars interlaced with pestles, and 
nothing of his arms was to be seen but his clutches. ’ ’ 

In his dream Bunyan saw Faithful tried in Vanity Fair be¬ 
fore Judge Lord Hate-Good. The names of the jury were Mr. 
Blindman, foreman, Mr. No-Good, Malice, Love-Lust, Live- 
Loose, Heady, Highmind, Enmity, Liar, Cruelty, Hate Light 
and Mr. Implacable. The result was that he was found guilty 
according to their laws, was scourged, had his feet lanced with 
knives, was pricked with swords, stoned and burned to ashes 
at the stake. 

This is no dream. Most juries are built up of that material 
today, and are often far below the Bunyan standard. For four 
years ignorant and malicious men have sat in juries who 
should have been kicked out. The jury that indicted me for 
my Mexican book was of this class. With such a * ‘bunion’ ’ 
bunch on the bench no wonder Justice limps. 

What higher praise could a judge merit than Swift gives in 
his Gulliver's Travels: “Judges are persons appointed to de¬ 
cide all controversies of property, as well as for the trial of 
criminals, and picked out from the most dexterous lawyers, 
who are grown old or lazy; and having been biased all their 
lives against truth and equity, lie under such a fatal necessity 
of favoring fraud, perjury and oppression, that I have known 
some of them refuse a large bribe from the side where justice 
lay, rather than injure the faculty, by doing anything un¬ 
becoming their nature or their office." 

I am not the only traveler who received rough treatment 
on returning to his country—Sir Walter Raleigh came back 
from South America to London and was beheaded. In “His 
Pilgrimage" he longs for “heaven’s bribeless hall"— 

“Where no corrupted voices brawl; 

No conscience molten into gold, 

No forged accuser bought or sold. 

No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey; 

For there Christ is the King’s Attorney, 

Who pleads for all without degrees, 

And he hath angels, but no fees. ’ ’ 


12 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Machiavelli, secretary of the Republic of Florence, writes in 
“The Prince/’ “That to preserve the integrity of the state a 
ruler should not feel himself bound by any scruples of justice 
or humanity.” Can it be this is the model maxim of some 
of our official heads? If so, let us adopt and apply the Greek 
motto “Remember to distrust.” 

If anyone showed me two roads, one leading to the Devil and 
the other to a hall of Washington justice, I would quickly 
choose the former. 

Justice uses false scales. The poet tells us of the squint- 
eyed boy who proved to be a notable 

“Pick-purse, and afterward a most strong thief; 

Whence he grew up to be a cunning lawyer, 

And at last died a judge.” 

Dickens paints a drear picture of law and justice in “Bleak 
House:” “Never can there come fog too thick, never can there 
come mud and mire too deep, to assort with the groping and 
floundering conditions which this High Court of Chancery, 
most pestilent of hoary sinners, holds, this day, in the sight of 
heaven and earth. The Court of Chancery; which has its de¬ 
caying houses and its blighted lands in every shire; which has 
its wornout lunatic in every madhouse, and its dead in every 
churchyard; which has its ruined suitor, with his slipshod 
heels and threadbare dress, borrowing and begging through 
the round of every man’s acquaintance; which gives to money¬ 
ed might the means abundantly of wearying out the right; 
which so exhausts finances, patience, courage, hope, so over¬ 
throws the brain and breaks the heart, that there is not an 
honorable man among its practitioners who would not give— 
who does not often give—the warning, ‘Suffer any wrong that 
can be done you, rather than come here.’ ” 

Lear wasn’t so mad when he said to the sightless Glo’ster: 
“Look with thine ears: see how yon justice rails upon yon 
simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy- 
dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?” 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


13 


A PROSTITUTED PRESS 

HE press printed columns of lies against me, but few 
words of truth in my favor. The word “Arrested” 
was in big type, that of “Nolled” in small. Too 
often newspapers are owned and run by spreaders 
of filth, falsehood and poison—by political and financial ban¬ 
dits who plunder their readers. The press oppresses and de¬ 
presses with lucre, lies and libel. When Philip of Macedon 
sought the friendship of Athens and was opposed by De¬ 
mosthenes, the oracles were bribed to give utterances favor¬ 
able to Philip. This sounds like modern history. 

Oscar didn’t shoot very Wilde when he wrote: “We are 
dominated by Journalism. In America the President reigns 
for four years, and Journalism governs for ever and ever. 
It has carried its authority to the grossest and most brutal 
extremes. The fact is, that the public has an insatiable curi¬ 
osity to know everything except what is worth knowing. 
Journalism, conscious of this, and having tradesman like 
habits, supplies their demands. In centuries before ours the 
public nailed the ears of journalists to the pump. That was 
quite hideous. In this century journalists have nailed their 
own ears to the keyhole. That is much worse.” Hazlitt said 
it was utterly impossible to persuade editors that they were 
nobody. I have found them, as a rule, much duller than their 
readers. The editor’s chair is often a baby’s highchair. An 
editor is one whose bump of intelligence is inverted till it can 
hold a goose-egg. 

Our newspapers haven’t changed much—except for the 
worse—since Dickens wrote about them on his visit to America: 
“Newspapers dealing round abuse and blackguard names; pull¬ 
ing off the roofs of private houses, as the Halting Devil did in 
Spain; pimping and pandering for all degrees of vicious taste, 
and gorging with coined lies the most voracious maw; imputing 
to every man in public life the coarsest and the vilest motives; 
scaring away from the stabbed and prostrate body politic every 
Samaritan of clear conscience and good deeds; and setting on, 
with yell and whistles, and the clapping of foul hands, the vilest 
vermin and worst birds of prey.” 






14 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


To quote a famous American journalist, “The enormous ma¬ 
jority of newspapers is conspicuously bad. Conducted by rogues 
and dunces for dunces and rogues, they are faithful to nothing 
but to the vices and follies of our system, strenuously opposing 
every intelligent attempt at their elimination. They fetter the 
feet of wisdom and stiffen the prejudices of the ignorant. They 
are sycophants to the mob, tyrants to the individual. They con¬ 
stitute a menace to organized society—a peril to government of 
any kind; and if in America Anarchy shall beg to introduce 
his dear friend Despotism we shall have to thank our vaunted 
‘freedom of the press’ as the controlling spirit of the turbulent 
time, and Lord of Misrule.” 

Crabbe, whom Byron called, “Nature’s sternest painter, 
yet the best, ’ ’ has this to say of the newspaper: 

“Here Scandal whets her quill, 

Here Slander shoots unseen whene’er she will; 

Here Fraud and Falsehood labor to deceive, 

And Folly aids them both, impatient to believe.” 

If this seems too crabbed, listen to the late John Swinton, 
for many years the editor-in-chief of a leading New York 
paper, and one of America’s oldest and best-loved journalists. 
Speaking to a body of newspaper men, he said: “There is 
no such thing in America as an independent press, unless it is 
in the country towns. You know it, and I know it. There is 
not one of you who dares to write his honest opinion, and if 
you did, you know beforehand it would never appear in print. 
I am paid $150 per week for keeping my honest opinions out 
of the paper I am connected w T ith. Others of you are paid 
similar salaries for similar reasons, and any of you who would 
be so foolish as to write his honest opinion would be put on 
the streets looking for another job. The business of the New 
York journalist is to destroy the truth, lie outright, to per¬ 
vert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of Mammon, and to sell 
his race and his country for his daily bread. You know this, 
and I know it, and what folly is this to be toasting an in¬ 
dependent press? We are the tools and vassals of rich men 
behind the scenes; we are the jumping-jacks; they pull the 
strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our 
lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual 
prostitutes. ’ ’ 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


15 


RAILROAD RAILLERY 

HE United States (Unprecedented Steal) Railway Ad¬ 
ministration sought to close the critical mouth of the 
clergy by issuing them a one-half fare permit. Mine 
is wide open for any just criticism I may desire 
since I paid straight full fare on this trip. 

I have ridden on government railways in South America, 
Europe and Australia, but if I had a dead cabbage bouquet to 
award any line I am familiar with, it would be given to the 
“transformation” agency of the government which Mr. Mc- 
Adoo made infamous. From the time I bought my ticket, 
when the agent lost time with the new time-table printed on 
cheap paper and as easy to follow as the argument of the 
League of Nations, until the last home station of the ticket 

was pulled, I had a - fine time with diner, sleeper and 

baggage. 

To start with, I was rocked to sleep on the Rock Island, 
but unlike Jacob, my stony pillow was not conducive to 
heavenly dreams. Kansas City was a “striking” city as 
we knew from the smell before we saw it. The street-cars 
were on a strike and so the taxis struck while the iron was 
hot, compelling citizens and passengers to dig deep and give 
up. We had a flying start of an hour late on the Santa Fe; 
that’s what you expect, to lose time in traveling West. 

Although a standard sleeper was paid for through to the 
Coast, we were put out of the sleeper at Trinidad into a day 
coach until we arrived at Lamy, New Mexico. The Pullman 
conductor even refused my money when I offered to pay him 
the difference I had already paid. The porter audibly re¬ 
marked he was a fool, the train conductor overheard it, thought 
so himself and brought him forward to our coach where he 
apologized. But an hour had elapsed and we really preferred 
the day coach to his company and car. 

Glorietta is the name of a battle-field where, in 1862, a 
crucial battle of the Civil war was fought. Our train stopped 
where we could look down in the valley and see what re¬ 
mained of the Pecos Pueblo, an old walled city whose men 
and women were self-reliant and brave. As a poor eastern 
outpost of Pueblo civilization it was exposed to attacks by 



to make 






16 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


the Plain tribes and was often besieged. Recent excavations 
disclose subterranean chambers and balconies. This old dead 
city lives in the new fresh paint of artists, and the didactic 
dryness of archeological reports. I wonder how it feels to be a 
scientific ghoul, pry around dead cities and dig up these geologic 
graves. 

The train was so late reaching Lamy that the plug-stub that 
runs, or crawls rather, to the capital, Santa Fe, had gone, and 
we endlessly waited in a foul, dark railway station with a 
group of greasers till the train came back. The free trip to 
the capital, promised in the folder to passengers holding 
through tickets to California, had suddenly been withdrawn 
for government reasons. In order to see the country round 
about I decided to stay over several days. The coach to the 
capital was anything but capital—small, cold and lit with 
smoky oil-lamps that enabled the hungry passengers to read 
a big and beautiful “Save Food and Win the War” sign. 
Several aboard were more thirsty than hungry, or wished to 
drown their sorrows, so they went by pairs into the wash¬ 
room and shortly returned with brandy breaths. You see, 
New Mexico was dry and they w^ere, too. 

After a stay in Santa Fe, we returned to Lamy. Since the 
California Limited was only nine hours late, I lay me down to 
sleep in a Harvey hotel, an honor to Mr. H. and an oasis 
in this desert. I left an early call for No. 9, but there were 
seven No. nines that night. My section was due at five A. M. 
and I left a call with several hotel officials, but they were 
dead as the Seven Sleepers of Fvphesus, or those under the 
rails. I went out and waked them up and they kindly in¬ 
formed me my train had gone. However, a wide-awake switch¬ 
man said the train would not come for five hours, and he 
advised me to return to the hotel and finish my nap. 

I did, then came back to the station, waited a few more 
hours and filled in my time thinking of nice things to say 
about the railroad. Looking through a dirty pane of glass 
I saw a sign almost buried in a snow drift, “Keep off the 
Grass.” 

After five hours’ sentinel duty we entrained. This was the 
“Limited” and well named. I went to the washroom to 
shave. The porter waited until I took my collar off and had 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


17 


my razor and brush ready when he complacently told me 
there was no water in the car. Fortunately there was a half 
bucketful of ice-water in the corner which served. Never 
since I was a little shaver did I have such a hard time. There 
was no water to wash with, but the passengers in upper bunks 
received free shower baths early in the morning from the 
melted frost of the steel cars. 

At Albuquerque there was no snow excuse for delay yet 
our train had acquired the habit. We just stayed there four 
hours. Other trains, even freights, came and went, we simply 
stuck. The excuse for this hastily organized inefficiency may 
have been weak-lunged engines or fuel conservation—I think 
it was fool conservation. 

“Leave Health Behind, All Ye Who Enter Here,” should 
have been the motto over the entrance to the diner. Again 
I saw the ubiquitous and iniquitous sign, “Food will win the 
war.” I am sure this food would have won it if the Kaiser 
had been compelled to eat much of it. Burton says in his 
“Anatomy of Melancholy” that diet is the cause of melan¬ 
choly—he must have ridden on one of these trains. The only 
fast thing on this train was the diner—where one had to fast. 
If one were poetical he could sit and satisfy his stomach with 
a bare imagination of a feast; if mathematical, he could see 
his X (ten), represent an unknown quantity; if scientific, he 
might use a telescope or magnifying glass to discover what he 
ordered; if archeological, he might ponder the antiquity of the 
ruined remnants before him. Since I was a moralist, I re¬ 
flected how near man was nigh unto death. 

The portions served were out of all proportion to the prices 
paid. The soup was a superfluity, the steak a mistake. The 
chicken was small, as if it had just come out of the shell, and 
as tough as if it were the original old hen that walked with 
Mr. Rooster into Noah’s Ark. The vegetables were flavored 
with the different soils they were raised in. When I ate meat 
I wished I was a vegetarian, and when I tasted the vegetables 
I was sorry I was not carnivorous. The coffee suggested 
“There’s death in the cup.” For some occult reason the 
milk was called cream. As to pie it was impiety. There was 
nothing left out of the whole bill of fare that was not cal¬ 
culated to take away the appetite of an honest man. Another 


18 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


day on this line and I might have become a cynic or dyspeptic. 
From personal experience of my Department of the Interior 
I am prepared to make an exhaustive report to Washington. 
Nothing but love of life urged me to enter that dining car and 
make my stomach a museum for the culinary art of their 
curious cooking. As a parson I took it as a part of religious 
sacrifice, and as a patriot, a pill for the ruling party. The 
meals were “rotten,’’ and I am sure the Romans would have 
enjoyed them, who were accustomed to feast on dormice baked 
in honey and poppy; sow’s breasts with truffles; oysters stewed 
in garum with sauce made of the intestines of fish; spiders 
in jelly and lion’s dung served in pastry. Speaking of pastry 
recalls Careme who began his treatise on fancy dishes as fol¬ 
lows: “The Fine Arts number five; Painting, Music, Poetry, 
Sculpture and Architecture, the principal branch of which is 
Pastry.” 


POLITICAL APRON-STRINGS 

HE functionaries of the present railroad system are 
defunctionaries—but what can young or old America 
expect from such Paternalism—of a government om¬ 
nipotence that runs railroads and ships; fixes the 
prices of food; the rates of telephones and telegraphs; pre¬ 
scribes the hours of labor and the amount of wages; 
tells us what to drink, what time we must arise 
and when to ride in autos; holds up cables; runs 
movies for political propaganda; censors the mail; bars 
books from libraries, articles from magazines and magazines 
from the postoffice; sneaks around to find how much money 
a man has in the bank, and snoops about to see how much 
coal is in his cellar; tells not simply what you must do, but 
wfflat you must not do. Such mischievous, meddling and 
muddling maladministration is un-American and undesirable. 
Guizot characterizes such misrule as, “that gross delusion, a 
belief in the sovereign of political machinery.” 

Children well brought up leave their parents and become 
independent. After this it is foolish surely to put them under 
the Paternalism of a government; to map their day’s program 
of when to get up, what to wear, eat, drink and do; how many 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


19 


hours to work; what they shall read; what church or theatre 
to attend; when they shall go to bed and what form of prayer 
they shall use and how long they may sleep. When this comes 
to pass in America, as it did in Russia, we may look for a 
big addition to the Anarchist and Nihilist rank. Give us 
liberty or give us death. 

Herbert Spencer was a man to think deeply and speak de¬ 
liberately, and his words should echo across the sea and 
within the corridors of Congress. In his essay on “ Over- 
Legislation,” he affirms that officialism cannot help but be 
sluggish, stupid, extravagant, unadaptive, unjust, corrupt, sta¬ 
tionary and obstructive, and quotes a state official as saying, 
“wherever there is government there is villainy.” We must 
content ourselves with the maxim of the old Roman who said, 
“Against stupidity the Gods themselves are powerless.” 

The Southern Pacific from Los Angeles to ’Frisco was de¬ 
lightfully pleasant. I wished to stop off at Santa Barbara, 
but the town had arranged a reception for the ex-Mikado of 
the railroads, so we continued on to ’Frisco. Returning from 
Vancouver on the Canadian Pacific the only thing that mar¬ 
red the trip, through the sublime panorama of river, forest 
and mountain, was our old, wooden, prehistoric sleeper and 
the carelessness of the Canadian baggage officials who lost 
my trunk for ten days. 

After being side-tracked on this paternal preachment, kindly 
return with me to that dirty, dingy train on the main line to 
the capital. 


INN BAD 

@ FTER jolting like peas in a pill-box for 18 miles we 
reached Santa Fe. No stage coach with horses 
awaited us, just a jitney that nearly wrecked us as it 
sailed along and tried to navigate the narrow streets. 
The boasted climate had fallen down and felt like the Arctic 
“icy air of night.” Knives of frost were whetted on my nose 
and ears. I knew the town was dry when I saw several drunks 
on the street. The Montezuma Hotel was passed by and it 
looked as though old Monte, or some three card Monte Mazuma 
man had built it. 



20 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


So we rattled across town to the Palace Hotel, once known 
as the De Vargas, a name happily changed for you have only 
to give a dog a bad name to kill him. The Palace is big enough 
for its name. The portales, arcades and arches loop around 
it. Inside one finds it most ancient and conducted on Santa Fe 
lines. No elevator service; people get an appetite for break¬ 
fast by walking through the interminable corridors and down 
stairs to the dining room. It is not necessary to go out for 
a morning walk. At dinner we found two girls and a boy 
waiting on 75 people. This does not include waits at breakfast 
for the cook to get up. Before the courses one has time to 
read and take a course in New Mexican history. This hotel 
has another original feature. The traveler should carry his 
own alarm-clock. He may leave a call but will not be called— 
what if he misses the train, there will be another the next day? 

There was a full house for the governor was to be inaugu¬ 
rated, and the politicians and their followers had flocked from 
all parts of the state in various states of intoxication. Some 
were brawling in the hallways, calling on the stairways and 
on each other, while others were in their rooms shouting, smok¬ 
ing and spitting. It was like an old forty-niner place described 
by Bret Harte or Mark Twain. There was a shaking of heavy 
boots that suggested earthquakes; laughter like fire calls; 
strange oaths and ribaldry; a female parade in the corridors, 
and half-open doors, showing how women were made to look 
like morning beauties with paint. 

Saturday night was dark and quiet save for a light, fan¬ 
tastic, Mexican half-breed dance. We looked in. They were 
mutually happy in spite of their homely partners and the 
awful music. I think the musicians were graduates of the 
Deaf and Dumb Asylum and were unconscious of the terrible 
discord they made. 


santa fetishism 

ARLY Sunday morning we were roused by bells that 
banged and clanged as inharmoniously as the orches¬ 
tra. We saw the blood-red sun rise over the “Sangre 
de Christo”—Blood of Christ mountains. Our ears 
tingled not only with the bells but with the cold. The narrow, 
crooked, little streets were shiny with ice and white snow. Over 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


21 


them from all directions came Spanish and Mexican women in 
black dresses and mantillas. God made the world light but man 
made religion dark and gruesome. Young girls and old women 
were thinly clad and formed a shivering saintly parade to the 
cathedral. It looked like a Sunday section of Peru and Chili. 
We followed them into the service. The big, barny room was 
dim, cold and damp and the walls echoed to constant coughing 
and throat-clearing as though it were a T. B. hospital. I trust 
the communicants received som)e spiritual life—I know the seeds 
of physical death were sowed. Outside, wet with the long 
drive, stood the poor horses hitched to sleighs. Blankets and 
robes, which should have covered them, were piled on the 
seats. The proverbial “merciful man” had no place in these 
pious drivers’ creeds. Did not Christ come to lift the whole 
created world to a higher and more human level? Did not 
He, whose cradle was a manger and his nursery a barn, in¬ 
tend to help the world of dumb, suffering, overworked, under¬ 
fed and abused creation, whether it were horse, cow, dog or 
cat? 

The cathedral, originally built in 1612 and destroyed in 
1680, is cruciform and with unfinished towers. I saw several 
alleged old master paintings. In the rear of the altar lie 
buried two Franciscan friars killed by the Indians, and under 
the altar are the remains of Archbishop Lamy. 

From this heaped-up stone monument, this pile that rep¬ 
resents the money ground out and filched from human fear and 
imbecility, and spent to maintain mental and moral subjection 
of the Indian flock under the cruel sceptre; from this church 
which in this region had corrupted, poisoned and murdered, 
and had passed a blight of mental mildew and blast of moral 
death upon the country and its people; from this stone pile 
of stupidity and senile superstition start annually the De 
Vargas and Corpus Christ! processions. 

The Corpus Christi is one of the chief festivals of the Ro¬ 
man Catholic church instituted by Pope Urban IV in 1264 in 
honor of the Eucharist. An old inhabitant told me that when 
he first came one was in danger of being mobbed if he didn’t 
take his hat off quick enough when the procession passed by 
in the Plaza. Now it is different. The procession avoids the 
public Plaza, goes down and around side streets, and one may 
stand and look on with his hat on without being forced to 


22 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


idolatrous worship, as I saw in Madrid, Lisbon and Montreal. 

Santa Fe railway folders show pictures of Corpus Christi 
day processions as advertisements to travelers. Except in 
some small, bigoted European cities, and backward mountain 
towns in Central and South America, they have been pro¬ 
hibited. Even Chili a few years ago caricatured and burles¬ 
qued them at Santiago. Still they have full swing and right 
of way here. Yet there are some skim-milk Protestants who 
wonder if there is any need for contributions for home 
missions. 

The Roman Catholic church in Santa Fe has full privilege 
of teaching and enslaving the humble. Pay your money and 
take your choice of the cathedral, St. Vincent’s Sanitarium 
and St. Vincent’s Orphan Home, Loretto' Chapel, Loretto 
Academy, Loretto Convents, Roman Catholic Parochial Schools, 
San Miguel Church, St. Michael’s College, Rosario Chapel 
and Cemetery, and St. Catherine’s Indian School. Tourist 
and other accommodations are limited, but when you want re¬ 
ligious facilities there is room and to spare in these dungeons 
of dogma where the service of spoliation is conducted and 
young brows are won over to old error. Superstitions, opposi¬ 
tion to New Testament and Declaration of Independence spirit, 
hate of public schools and boycott of Protestants, are the 
seeds sown in the minds of the New Mexican citizens of 
tomorrow. Great schools for mental infamy! Influenza is 
bad, but from these Papal pesthouses the contagion of error is 
spreading through all the country. 

Out upon this imbecile teaching, hypocrisy of practice, per¬ 
version of worship, social injuriousness and deadly action on 
women and children! Faugh! on all this stage-shifting of 
mystical scenery! Christianity and Ohurchianity are two very 
different things. Any denomination should be criticized that 
puts creed before conduct and permits Sunday’s devotion to 
atone for week day’s deviltry. 





PUEBLO BELLES, SAN IDLEFONSO, N. M. 





































INDIAN KIVA, SAN IDLEFONSO, N. M 



HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


23 


HEARTLESS SISTERS 

ET me illustrate. Up in the mountains at Buekman, 
N. M., after a big blizzard, I met an Indian and his 
Mexican wife who had brought their three children, 
girl and two boys, over a hundred miles to the sta¬ 
tion. The train was five hours late. Since the father must 
drive back before dark, he asked me if I would see the children 
on the train, have the conductor give them receipts for their 
half fares, and then see them off at the Santa Fe station where 
they would be met by some sisters of the St. Catherine Indian 
school. Our train arrived late at night and no sisters were 
there. It was fifteen degrees below zero and a fierce wind 
was blowing. I placed the three children in a taxi with me, 
went to the hotel and ordered the driver to take them to the 
St. Catherine Indian school outside the city limits. Imagine 
my surprise in an hour to have the clerk at the desk phone 
me at my room that there were three Indian children who 
wanted to see me. I went down in my overcoat and slippers, 
startled the well dressed hotel guests who had come in for the 
inauguration and told them of my charge and promise to 
the father and mother. The driver said he had taken the 
children there and the little boy had presented the letter to 
the sisters, but it seems the father had made a mistake and 
should have sent the children to the U. S. Government Indian 
school. I said it would have been an easy matter for the 
sisters to have kept the freezing, frightened little folks till 
morning and then have properly placed them. Not so! The 
door was slammed in their face and they were out in the cold 
world at midnight. These sisters of St. Catherine were far¬ 
away followers of their namesake, the virgin martyr St. Cath¬ 
erine of the Third century, who was martyred at Alexandria 
by being bound to a spiked wheel, and whose kindly life made 
her an honored saint in the minds of the faithful East and 
West. These sisters were unworthy the name of St. Catherine 
the saint—they should enlist under the banner of Catherine 
of Russia, the cruel, selfish, sensual, loose-lifed woman, half- 
Pagan and profligate. They forgot the Master’s, “Inasmuch 
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, 
ye have done it unto me.” Their interpretation of His, “Suffer 







24 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


little children to come unto me,” was to let them “suffer’’ as 
much as possible. 

The driver was compelled to take the children across this 
Arctic space to the hotel where I was. They were brought 
in half-frozen and put by the fire to tliaw out. I told them 
not to worry, it would be all right. Then I saw a brother 
Mason, told him the trouble. He phoned and the little brothers 
and sister were wrapped up warm, sent to the U. S. Indian 
school and placed in clean warm beds. My talk and action led 
an outsider to ask if I were Billy Sunday. I said “Yes, and 
Billy Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Satur¬ 
day until Sunday comes again.” 

A DIVINE DUMP 

EGEND has it that De Vargas’ lying bones lie in the 
church of San Miguel. The church, though not the 
oldest in the U. S., as claimed, for there are some in 
the outlying villages much older, was built about 
1607, partly destroyed by the Indians in 1680, and rebuilt by 
De Vargas in 1610. L. and I visited it. It is small in space 
but occupies a large place in Santa Fe history. For the sum 
of 25 cents each we saw an old 14th century bell of Spanish 
make. The Father rang it for me. The folder says it is the 
“sweetest” toned bell in America. To me the harsh note of 
the cracked Liberty Bell is far sweeter. There is a 600 year 
old Ciambue altar painting here—what the church most needs 
is to have the building painted. One holy canvas had two 
arrow holes in it made by the Indians. These savage critics 
made pointed comment, and the only interesting thing to me 
about the picture was the arrow holes. The “Annunciation,” 
in describing which some critics would use denunciation, is 
painted in old red, blue and yellow by Ciambue, teacher of 
Giotto. As I studied the picture I could easily believe the 
Father when he said, “The artist was greater as a fresco 
painter.” 

“Saint Teresa,” 300 years old, is naturally much faded, the 
paint is cracking from her face that no massage can correct, 
and her frame is dry-rotted and falling to pieces. 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


25 


We saw a small copy of “Our Lady of Guadaloupe” whose 
original we had viewed in Old Mexico. In this corner of an¬ 
tiquities it might be well to bury these “oldest” things in the 
“oldest” cemetery, and have the old bell ring out the old 
and false and ring in the new and true. The Father was the 
usher about the church, and judging from the cracks in it, it 
will be another “Fall of the House of Usher.” 

Across the street was the “oldest” house, where Coronado 
and others, ’tis said, resided until the Palace was completed. 
It is adobe and poorly preserved. Opposite is the cemetery, 
very old and a part of the down-at-heel deadness and debility of 
the city. 

We were boastfully told that Santa Fe was “old” when 
the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, and that Franciscans and 
Spaniards were here 80 years before. Well, age is often a good 
thing but not always. The fact that an egg has age is a poor 
recommendation. Thank God those who landed' on Plymouth 
Rock were Puritans in doctrine, worship and practice, and not 
impure Spanish marauders and murderers. 

The religious rambler, when he goes out to see, will see that 
Santa Fe is the site of the Archiepiscopal See of the Roman 
Catholic church, and that Santa Fe is also significantly the 
headquarters of the internal revenue system rf New Mexico 
and Arizona. There is a plan afoot to change the Plaza so 
as to place the Cathedral on it and rr.ak<? it like all other 
Spanish Plazas. The customs of the town, its education, re¬ 
ligion, speech and slowness are now too Spanish for the United 
States. This ideal may do for Spain, South and Central Amer¬ 
ica and old Mexico—give us a new Mexico, new in ideals, 
liberty, humanity and patriotism. There are efficient Protest¬ 
ant religious bodies and souls in this city whose churches I 
visited and who conduct schools for boys and girls. 

CHURCHLY CUTTHROATS 

ERE in the wilds of New Mexico, seven thousand 
feet up in the sky, walled in by low hills and moun¬ 
tains rising thirteen thousand feet, like a Mediaeval 
city, lies La Villa Real de La Sante Fe de San Fran¬ 
cisco—“the royal city of the holy faith of St. Francis”—a 
large name for a little town. Do you know its early history ? 




26 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Long ago Cabeza de Vaca, a shipwrecked and stranded 
European adventurer, crossed the continent with three com¬ 
panions experiencing all sorts of difficulties and dangers. He 
passed some fixed habitations that undoubtedly were Indian 
pueblo towns of New Mexico. He wrote such a Creel account 
of it that Coronado, the great governor of New Galicia and a 
Southwest conqueror, sent a Franciscan monk, with a negro, 
who had been one of Vaca’s companions, to give the country 
the once over and reconnoitre it. 

He reached Zuni (Cibola) where the negro was killed, but 
the monk, true to his early teaching, found it impossible to 
tell the truth and brought back such a wonderful story of the 
place and the people that it got Coronado’s goat, and he start¬ 
ed out next year, 1542, with 300 Spaniards, 800 Indians and 
five Franciscan fathers. This bandit buccaneer and mob of 
marauders was of the Carranza class. They insulted, robbed 
and killed the Indians, wiped out their towns, took their 
houses and drove the people out, which was the Spanish idea 
of “Kultur.” Such was their John Baptist way of preparing 
the way of the Lord. Then the Franciscans blessed this 
robbery and butchery, and for their unholy sacrifice of the 
Indians offered the regular Holy Sacrifice. 

Coronado came to New Mexico to plant a cross and raise 
gold; he got left on his gold and silver loot and returned to 
Mexico a wiser and a madder man. He failed to find his 
El Dorado—the Seven Cities of Cibola. 

Some of the Spaniards remained and their descendants 
were found 65 years later by Onate. He founded the present 
Santa Fe and made it the capital of the province in 1607. 
The Spanish worked the silver mines and the natives, and 
the cruel slavery to which they were reduced to obtain the 
metals, caused the Indians to revolt in 1608. For the 13 years 
they were in power, they filled up and sealed every silver 
mine. During the revolt the Spaniards barricaded themselves 
in the old Palace, through which tourists walk peacefully 
today, and executed 47 Pueblo prisoners in the Plaza which 
faces the Palace. The Spaniards were licked and decided to 
leave. Then came the sweet revenge of the Pueblo chieftains 
who ordered the destruction of the Spanish archives. But don’t 
feel bad, there are enough of them left today to puzzle and 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


27 


befuddle historians for two hundred years. The Indians burned 
the church ornaments in a big bonfire. Wise savages to de¬ 
stroy all this divine junk! Yet were the Indians savage as 
their conquerors who festooned the portales of the Palace with 
dried Indian ears? 

The Indians were victorious and defeated successive Span¬ 
ish expeditions until 1692. 

Now Diego de Vargas, another churchly cutthroat, appears 
on the scene. He comes up with soldiers and friars, con¬ 
quered the Indians and made peace, one of the terms of which 
was that they should not be enslaved in the mines. He was 
forced to conquer the town twice, once in 1692 and again in 
1693. He rose early to get in his formal religious devotion. 
He said his victory was from heaven—no, it had nothing to 
do with this bloody bigot—it was his Father the Devil who 
led him on. He vowed an annual procession in honor of the 
Blessed Virgin, if successful. This town surrendered on the 
morning of the thirtieth, 1693, and with thanks to God and 
the Virgin he shot many of the Indians, enslaved the 400 
women and children as servants of his soldiers, and stole all 
the provisions. Laus Deo ! Missions were then started to grind 
down the people and grind out glory to God. But the Indians 
rebelled and I don’t blame them, do you? In June, 1697, they 
killed seven priests, 21 soldiers and made a first class wreck¬ 
ing job of the churches and contents. Yet D. V., not deus 
vult, but damned villain, Diego Vargas, fought to restore peace 
and secure some semblance of order. 

Fortunately his term as governor expired—if he had never 
had it fewer would have expired—and a new governor, Cuebro, 
celebrated his arrival by throwing De Vargas in jail where he 
remained till 1700, when he was taken to Mexico and tried. 
He flammed the judges, was let off as innocent, came back to 
Santa Fe and was reappointed as governor. Cubero jumped 
the town to save his head and hide, riding on the trucks of a 
Santa Fe Limited. 

Jail never reformed D. V. and seldom does anyone—for he 
was soon back on the job of killing the Indians for Christ’s 
sake. Heaven be praised, he caught a fever and died. He 
willed that his body be buried in the San Miguel church, 
near the remains of Father Juan de Jesus. According to the 


28 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


New Testament which rewards good and punishes bad, that’s 
about the only Jesus he will ever be near. 

In this San Miguel church the guide Father told me of 
the saintly De Vargas and gave me a pamplet which reads: 
“Here we have, buried in Santa Fe, a truly great Spaniard, 
a great benefactor and conqueror. How can Santa Fe, even 
entire New Mexico, ever repay his services. There is no 
monument erected to his name, not even a tablet in the church 
which he re-erected and where lie his remains.” Alas, isn’t 
it awful! 

Now every June there is a De Vargas Roman Catholic 
procession through the streets of the capital in honor of this 
imp and impious impostor. ^ It begins at the cathedral, and 
ends at the Rosario chapel built in commemoration of the tak¬ 
ing of the city by De Vargas. 

When Mexico became independent in 1820, New Mexico 
began to be governed by political chiefs. Indians, Mexicans 
and others scrapped among themselves until the coming of the 
American army in 1846, under General Kearney, who took 
bloodless possession. A provincial government was established 
by the American. The treaty of Guadaloupe Hidalgo made 
New Mexico a part of the United States. In 1862 a Confeder¬ 
ate army from Texas crossed the line and occupied Santa Fe, 
but was defeated at Glorietta. 


INAUGURATION REMARKS 

A. Larrazola was the first Republican to be elected 
governor of New Mexico and it was some inaugura¬ 
tion. He was born in Chihuahua forty years ago, 
educated in St. Michael’s College, Santa Fe, was a 
Democrat, then jumped on the Republican band-wagon, and be¬ 
came a member of the K. C., Knights of Credulity. His practice 
of the law helped him to political position. He is opposed to 
prohibition. Heaven help New Mexico! 

I went to the state capitol and saw and heard him. The 
place was jammed with a jamboree of color, yellow and white. 
There was an orchestra led by a woman that blew itself in 
discordant blasts as fiercely as Boreas outside. All that any 
cynical philosopher has said about woman would be confirmed 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


29 


by what we saw and heard here. Mexican soldiers with their 
suits and guns stood at attention to his speech while the 
people sat spell-bound. Retiring Governor Lindsey said Good¬ 
bye and Larrazola rose with a Hello, how are you! Lindsey 
was an American and spoke eloquent English, Larrazola was 
a Mexican and spoke Spanish with fluency and fervor. He 
translated his speech into English, though it was received with 
less applause. The program was printed in English and Span¬ 
ish. We criticize foreign languages in our schools, preaching 
and press, yet it has come to a pretty pass when a governor 
of a state in the Union is compelled to make his inaugural 
speech in Spanish because most of his hearers, friends and 
voters are Spanish and don’t understand English. His speech 
sounded eloquent in his native tongue, and the thing that 
appealed to me in its translation was, “Public education must 
not only be encouraged but compelled.” Yes, I think so. The 
mountains of his state are high but education is low. His 
people think more of gold than grammar and of mines than 
mind. In 1900, 33 per cent of the population of ten years of 
age was illiterate, making the worst showing of any of our 
states. Mexico is great on geology, pedogogically speaking 
she is punk and will be until she has more public and fewer 
parochial schools. She brings up the rear in the march of 
progress in our states. New Mexico is just old Mexico with a 
new name, in origin, language, religion and abysmal illiteracy. 
The Middle Ages have only passed away in the school books— 
they are still with us in New Mexico where the Mexicans are 
physically, mentally and morally degenerate; where bribery 
is frequent; elections a farce, and politics a game. 

While there’s life there’s hope and let us hope that all will 
end well. The climax of the inaugural day was a big ball 
held in the Scottish Rite Cathedral—the right kind of a 
cathedral that in Scotland or America stands for the loftiest 
ideals and purest practice of piety and patriotism. 


30 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


ARTIFICE AND ART 

E visited the Museum to attend the Governor’s re¬ 
ception. The building is in the shape of an early Ro¬ 
man Catholic mission. The sanctuary walls are deco¬ 
rated to commemorate the life and influence of St. 
Francis, who is the city’s patron saint. His history is ro¬ 
mantic. He was a gay boy, a dandy who loved fine clothes and 
to be seen on the streets with the boys. His town was Assisi 
and he was a sort of sissy in his dress and conduct and the 
foremost in his revels with sporty nobles. He got into a fight 
between the men of Assisi and Perugia and was landed in jail 
for a year. When the devil was sick the devil a monk would 
be. Francis was sick at twenty-five and turned to religion, but 
on convalescence, backslid into his former fast life. He again 
reformed, renounced the works of the devil, gave up his pos¬ 
sessions and went on a pilgrimage to Rome. One day he paused 
to think and pray at an old chapel. From the ruins a voice 
came, saying, “Francis, see’st thou not that my house is in 
ruins. Go and restore it to me.” He started to do it, went 
home, swiped a bale of stuff from his father, strapped it to a 
horse and then sold the horse and the bale for the church. 
His father cuffed and cursed him but finally got the swag back. 
Francis then gave up his earthly for his heavenly father, de¬ 
voted himself to poverty and founded an order of mendicants 
—holy hoboes. To match the poor brother society, he founded 
an order of poor sisters, “Poor Claras” (Clarisses) so named 
because of the example of a young girl named Clara who fell 
deeply in love with him, his poverty, preaching and so forth. 
Of his many other acts much is mere legend. He loved ani¬ 
mals, spoke of the ass on which he rode as his brother, called 
the birds his sisters and said their songs pleased God. That’s 
more than I can say of the female voices I heard in Santa Fe. 
He was a great animal-tamer, the very wolves crouched at his 
feet. He fell into the vicious troubadour habit of writing lyric 
poetry. In his “Song of Creation” the sun, fire and wind are 
his brothers, and the moon, stars, water and death are all his 
sisters. So although he left his home he was not alone, and 
for one who took the vow of poverty and celibacy for his bride 
he had a very large family. Wonders increased as he grew old 







HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


31 


and the greatest of all was when he was dying. While pray¬ 
ing he had the vision of an angel with arms and feet affixed to 
a cross. Then came the miracle of the “Stigmata,” the nail 
prints of the divine Christ appeared on his own human hands 
and feet. 

One should wear smoked glasses when he visits the Santa 
Fe art gallery, the coloring of the pictures and murals is such 
a dazzling red, blue and yellow. These colors would give 
Ruskin an epileptic fit and they are put on thickly with a slap 
dash style as if with a shovel, trowel or hose. They are won¬ 
derful if you squint your eyes, and some appear to best ad¬ 
vantage when your eyes are shut. I met one of the artists, 
polite, gentle-spirited, sweet-voiced and gray-hared. It did 
seem strange and sad that he should have committed such pic¬ 
torial atrocities. Van Dyke asks, How to Judge a Picture? 

I judge that some of them should get twenty years. 

BLOODY PENITENTES 

USKIN affirms that one of the reasons for the gloom 
of the peasants in the Tyrolean mountains is their 
religion which delights in scenes of bloody martyr 
death, in depicting suffering in their chapel walls and 
The atmosphere of Santa Fe and surroundings is 
known from the gruesome name given the mountains just back 
of the town, “Blood of Christ” range. It’s a bad habit to 
blacken God’s beautiful world; to think He enjoys discomfort 
and degradation more than ease and honor; to visit beauty 
spots in nature, feel happy and lift the voice in song or mind 
and heart in thanks to the Divine Father and then suddenly 
come to some statue, picture, cross or name that shows souls 
sweltering in blood, pitchforked by devils, or roasting in red 
waves of hell-fire. 

Two miners were on the train who had spent years in New 
Mexico. They told me they had hidden behind adobe walls in 
outlying towns and seen repellant and degrading sights—a 
crowd of howling Penitentes, running by stripped to the waist, 
thrashing themselves with thongs tipped with cactus. You 
take not simply your kodak but your life in hand when you 
attempt to get a picture of this fanatic, infuriated mob infected 


R 



shrines. 




32 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


with the rabies of religion. They carry heavy crosses on their 
shoulders and up to a few years ago devotees were crucified 
and killed on them. These men told me the Penitentes now 
do not kill but torture their victims by tying hands and legs to 
the cross. Henry Savage Landor, a tourist in Thibet, was put 
on a cross and tortured. Travelers in New Mexico today are 
tortured on the cross of hard beds, lashed with hunger at 
empty tables, and made to sacrifice their good money. 

Auto drivers at Santa Fe informed me that during this 
festival they had taken tourist parties out to see the holy show. 
Strange that God made man a “little lower than the angels,” 
and man, under the guise of serving God has made a beast of 
himself until a pig is a saint in comparison. You find this 
mania illustrated in Pagan times, Middle Ages, and India 
today where I saw filthy fakirs at Benares lying on a mattress 
of spikes. They looked and smelt like a human menagerie. 
There are many religious orders that literally stink by rule to 
honor Him who created the pure air of heaven and millions of 
sweetest flowers. Penitentes ! Lunatic cross bearers! Life has 
many and severe enough crosses without this madness of the 
cross, “stultitiam crucis.” It is incredible that such weird, 
wicked and torturing rites should exist in America. This se¬ 
cret sect influences the politics of the state, stones onlookers, 
and would kill critics if it had the chance. 

Self-torture is an old story. The Lupercalia was an ancient 
Roman festival in honor of the wolf-god. It was held by the 
shepherds on the 15th of every February on the Palatine Hill 
where an altar and grave were sacred to him. On this day 
the priestly devotees of Lupercus made sacrifices of goats and 
dogs. Following certain ceremonies the goat-skins were cut up 
—part for coverings for their body and part made into thongs 
which they used as whips, rushing through the streets of the 
city and lashing right and left all they met. Childless women 
courted this punishment and were glad to expose their bare 
breasts and shoulders to the marks of the cruel thongs, hoping 
thereby to bear children. Even the great Mark Antony acted 
as one of the Luperci when he was consul. On general prin¬ 
ciples a stroke of lash is supposed to have a salutary effect. 
Some of us know what a lickin’ will do, that to “spare the 
rod” or staff is often to “spoil the child.” 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


33 


From earliest days in every nation, both savage and civil¬ 
ized people have whipped themselves to please the deity. Hero¬ 
dotus says the old Egyptians made a carpet out of themselves 
and beat their bodies at the time or after the sacrifice at the 
annual festival in honor of their Goddess Isis. 

At the festival of Artemis in Lacaedaemon, Lycurgus is said 
to have instituted the “Dramastigosis” on account of which he 
took youths before the altar and marked them with zebra cuts. 
This practice was later found in Asia Minor and Italy. 

St. Augustine says in his day flogging was used not only 
by parents and teachers for discipline, but by bishops in their 
courts. Provincial councils upheld the practice as right. 

Self-flagellation came later as an act of voluntary penance. 
At the end of the 11th century, Cardinal Peter Damian preached 
and practised on himself the idea of sacred spanking. In the 
13th century there were public, pious swat ceremonies and 
faithful fraternities were organized for their benefit. St. An¬ 
thony of Padua, 1210, said it was a good thing. About 1260 
Rainier, a monk of Perugia, whipped himself and others with a 
cat-o ’-nine-tail club to make them feel better after the long and 
losing Guelph and Ghibelline war in Italy. 

The hit-’em-again fever spread and everybody was doin’ it. 
They ran and crowded through the streets with bull whips like 
cowboys rounding up cattle. According to a Paduan monk’s 
chronicle, “they drew forth blood from their tortured bodies 
amid sighs and tears, singing at the same time penitential 
psalms and entreating the compassion of the deity. ” Carry on 
the Good Work was the slogan. Can you beat it? They went 
near and far as Rome. The religious anchorites continued this 
punishment of their rebellious saints because it seemed to make 
good. Feeling that politics and piety were a bad mixture, the 
Ghibellines put up the bars. 

In the spotlight of history, on the stage of the Middle Ages, 
this Flagellant stunt was a literal scream. It soon became an 
all round nuisance and was prohibited by the clergy and civil 
rulers. They got the hook. 

The society of the strap reappeared after the great plague 
in the fourteenth century in Hungary and Germany, and 
thence spread from the continent to England but left with no 
converts. In 1349, Pope Clement let loose a mad bull against 


34 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


the organization, and during the days of Gregory 11th the holy 
officers of the Inquisition gave them a taste and a big dose of 
their own medicine which wholly finished the macerating so¬ 
ciety. Later in Thuringia the order was revived and called 
1 ‘ Cryptoflagellants, ’ ’ but the life was cut short, the author and 
his aides were tried and their heads cut off. 

Later France practiced in private a more refined and fash¬ 
ionable form of this faith, but it ill agreed with the epicurean 
motto, '‘Eat, drink and be merry,” and failed. Henry III. of 
France thought he would give the Parisians a new thrill of joy 
and attain political influence at the same time. He instituted 
a whipping brotherhood in gay Paree and received a ha-ha for 
his self-inflicted pains. Henry IV. stopped the thing, and per¬ 
sonal massage with strips of rawhide that made the hide raw, 
went out of fashion. There was a little flare up of the flagel¬ 
lants later in Italy and France. In Lisbon as late as 1820 there 
was a public procession of flagellants. 

You say what a sorry set those old time heathen were. My 
tender-hearted reader, the same things and thongs are pulled 
off just before Easter among the Penitentes of New Mexico. 

PESTILENTIAL PIETY 

ANCTUARIA, the Lourdes of New Mexico, is a sani¬ 
tarium where people flock from California, Arizona 
and New Mexico to worship at a quaint chapel with 
its shrine and miraculous cure. It is primitive in its 
architecture, dating from 1816, is 60 bj^ 24 feet, has massive 
walls and is embellished with native woods and engravings. 
The natives proudly call it the new Lourdes. Well, I have seen 
this Lourdes business in Europe, Central America and Canada, 
and it is a clerical circus humbug that has Barnum beaten a 
mile. If you don’t know what the word Lourdes means read 
the following description of its “shrine” in France, by the great- 
realistic novelist Zola, who had much to do with driving the 
clerics out .of France—although since the war the clergy of 
Alsace-Lorraine want their patriotism repaid by government 
church support. Here is Zola’s description:— 

“There was no end to the train of abominations; it ap¬ 
peared to grow longer and longer. No order was observed; 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


35 


ailments of all kinds were jumbled together; it seemed like the 
clearing of some inferno where the most monstrous maladies, 
the rare and awful cases which provoke a shudder had been 
rolled together. Eczema, roseola, elephantiasis presented a long 
array of doleful victims. W'ell-nigh vanished diseases reap¬ 
peared f one old woman was affected with leprosy, another was 
covered with impetiginous lichen like a tree which has rotted 
in the shade. Then came the dropsical ones, inflated like wine 
skins; and besides some stretchers dangled hands twisted by 
rheumatism, while from others protruded feet swollen by odema 
beyond all recognition, looking, in fact, like bags stuffed full 
of rags. One woman, suffering from hydrocephalus, sat in a 
little cart, the dolorous motions of her head bespeaking her 
grievous malady. A tall girl afflicted with chorea—St. Vitus 
dance—was dancing with every limb, without a pause, the left 
side of her face being completely distorted by sudden, con¬ 
vulsive grimaces. A younger one, who followed, gave vent to 
a bark, a kind of a plaintive animal cry, each time that the 
tic douloureoux which was torturing her, twisted her mouth and 
her right cheek which she seemed to throw forward. Next came 
the consumptives, trembling with fear, exhausted by dysentery, 
wasted to skeletons, with livid skins, recalling the color of that 
earth in which they would soon be laid to rest; and there was 
one among them who was quite white with flaming eyes, who 
looked indeed like a death’s head in which a torch had been 
lighted. Then every deformity of the contractions followed in 
succession—twisted trunks, twisted arms, necks askew, all the 
distortions of poor creatures whom Nature had warped and 
broken; and among these was one whose right hand was thrust 
back behind her ribs whilst her head fell to the left, resting 
fixedly upon her shoulder. Afterwards came poor rachitic girls 
displaying their waxen complexion, their slender necks eaten 
away by sores, and yellow-faced women in the painful stupor 
which falls on those whose bosoms are devoured by cancer; 
whilst others lying down with their mournful eyes, gazing 
heavenwards, seemed to be listening to the throbs of the tumors 
which obstructed their organs. And still more and more went 
by; there was always something more frightful to come; this 
woman following that otjier one increased the general shudder 
of horror. 


36 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


‘ ‘ From the neck of a girl of twenty who had a crushed, flat¬ 
tened head like a toad’s, there hung so huge a goitre that it 
fell even to her waist like the bib of an apron. A blind woman 
walked along, her head erect, her face pale like marble, dis¬ 
playing the acute inflammation of her poor ulcerated eyes. An 
aged woman stricken with imbecility, afflicted with dreadful 
disfigurements, laughed aloud with a terrifying laugh. And 
all at once an epileptic was seized with convulsions, and began 
foaming on her stretcher, without, however, causing any stop¬ 
page of the procession which never slackened its march; lashed 
onward by the blizzard of feverish passion which was impelling 
it towards the grotto. ’ ’ 

After this charming description Zola describes the holy wa¬ 
ter where these happy people were cured: 

“The Fathers of the Grotto only allowed the water of the 
baths to be changed twice a day. Nearly a hundred patients 
being dipped in the same water it can be imagined what a ter¬ 
rible soup the latter at last became. All manner of things were 
found in it, so that it was like a frightful consomme of all ail¬ 
ments, a field of cultivation for every kind of poisonous germs, 
a quintessence of the most dreaded contagious diseases; the 
miraculous feature of it all being that any should emerge alive 
from their immersion in such filth.” 

Here’s to the health of Sanctuaria, the Lourdes of New 
Mexico! 


KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS 

URING the past year the Knights of Columbus, a so¬ 
ciety that opposed the Masons, defamed the Y. M. C. 
A. and belittled the Red Cross, has by press, magazine 
and movies turned the spotlight on itself, and in that 
light we see the “spots” of an organization that claims to have 
been the Good Samaritan which cared for the brave U. S. boys 
who fell along the German highway, while insinuating that the 
Priest and Levite of other American agencies passed them by on 
the other side. What is this K. C. Society? 

An Order of Political Propaganda : 

A Mystic Alliance of Politics and Religion: 

The Genteel Society of Grab and Graft; ' s 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


37 


The Columbus Coterie of Caballers and Connivers: 

The Sublime Legion of Subterfuge: 

An Organization of Opinionated Pin-Heads: 

A League of Holy Humbug: 

Militant Disciples of Mendacity: 

A Co-operative Association of Character Assassins: 

A Society for the Prevention of Knowledge: 

Champions of Clericalism: 

A Labor Organization for the Union—of Church and State: 
A Bolsheviki Body for the Suppression of Free Thought, 
Free Speech, Free Press, Free Church and Free State: 
Guardians of Senseless and Superstitious Traditions: 
Ancient Body of Blathering Bosh: 

Organization of Disorganizers: 

Renegade Rank of Republican Government Revilers: 

A Band of Business Boycotters: 

Fraternity of Sinn Feiners: 

A Federation of Folderol: 

Faithful Followers of St, Christopher Columbus. 

WHO WAS COLUMBUS? 

HO was Columbus? I tried to learn, and visited his 
birthplace near Genoa; residence at Lisbon; Madeira, 
wdiere he voyaged; Salamanca, where he asked help 
of the doctors and scientists; the Alhambra, where he 
received aid from Isabella; the islands of Cuba and Haiti, and 
the mainland of South America which he discovered; the Wat- 
ling island of the Bahamas which he touched at, and the south¬ 
ern part of the Gulf of Mexico in which he cruised; the tempo¬ 
rary resting place of his remains at Seville and Havana, and 
the final place of his burial in the church at Santo Domingo. 

The impression I received, wrote and printed from this travel 
and study was that Chris, was avaricious, dishonest, cruel, im¬ 
moral, unfaithful to wife and family, false to his friends and 
many other things which I need not here repeat. Lest the reader 
think I am prejudiced, let me quote the following eulogy on 
Columbus, written by Ambrose Bierce, one of America’s great 
literary men, a master of satire and fantastic tales, who was 
boycotted in life, his books denied existence by the chief pub- 





38 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


lishing houses of the United States and only printed through 
the generosity of a rich friend—Ambrose Bierce, whose works 
fill 12 large volumes, yet whose name is not even mentioned in 
some of our leading European and American encyclopaedias, 
though the organization of the K. C. ’s has plenty of space. Here 
follows his classic encomium of Columbus: 

‘'The human mind is affected with a singular disability to 
get a sense of an historical event without a gigantic figure in 
the foreground overtopping all his fellows. As surely as God 
liveth, if one hundred congenital idiots were set adrift in a scow 
to get rid of them, and, borne by favoring currents into eye¬ 
shot of an unknown continent, to simultaneously shout, ‘Land 
hoP instantly drowning in their own drool, we should have one 
of them figuring in history ever thereafter with a growing glory 
as an illustrious discoverer of his timje. I do not say that Colum¬ 
bus was a navigator and discoverer of that kind, nor that he did 
anything of that kind in that way; the parallel is perfect only 
in what history has done to Columbus; and some seventy mil¬ 
lions of Americans are authenticating the imposture all they 
know how. In this whole black business hardly one element of 
falsehood is lacking. 

‘ ‘ Columbus was not a learned man, but an ignorant. He was 
not an honorable man, but a professional pirate. He was, in 
the most hateful sense of the word, an adventurer. His voyage 
w T as undertaken with a view solely to his own advantage, the 
gratification of an incredible avarice. In the lust of gold he 
committed deeds of cruelty, treachery and oppression for which 
no fitting names are found in the vocabulary of any modern 
tongue. To the harmless and hospitable peoples among whom 
he came he was a terror and a curse. He tortured them, he mur¬ 
dered them, he sent them over the sea as slaves. So monstrous 
were his crimes, so conscienceless his ambition, so insatiable his 
greed, so black his treachery to his sovereign, that in his mere 
imprisonment and disgrace we have a notable instance of ‘the 
miscarriage of justice. ’ In the black abysm of this man's char¬ 
acter we may pile falsehood upon falsehood, but we shall never 
build a monument high enough to top the shadow of his shame. 
Upon the culm and crown of that reverend pile every angel will 
still look down and weep. 

“We are told that Columbus was no worse than the men of 
his race and generation—that his vices were ‘those of his time.' 







HAWAIIAN CURIOS 





















STRANGULATION STONE, KAHALUU, HAWAII 













HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


39 


No vices are peculiar to any time; this world has been vicious 
from the dawn of history, and every race has reeked with sin. 
To say of a man that he is like his contemporaries is to say that 
he is a scoundrel without excuse. The virtues are accessible to 
all. Athens was vicious, yet Socrates was virtuous. Rome was 
corrupt, but Marcus Aurelius was not corrupt. To offset Nero 
the gods gave Seneca. When literary France grovelled at the 
feet of the Third Napoleon Hugo stood erect. 

‘ ‘ It will be a dark day for the world when infractions of the 
moral law by A. and B. are accepted as justification of the sins 
of C. But even in the days of Columbus men were not all pi¬ 
rates; God inspired enough of them) to be merchants to serve 
as prey for the others; and while turning his honest penny by 
plundering them, the great Christopher was worsted by a Vene¬ 
tian trading galley and had to pickle his pelt in a six-mile swim 
to the Portuguese coast, a wiser and a wetter thief. If he had 
had the hard luck to drown, we might none of us have been 
Americans, but the gods would have missed the revolting spec¬ 
tacle of an entire people prostrate before the blood-beslubbered 
image of a moral idiot, performing solemn rites of adoration 
with a litany of lies. 

“ Tn comparison with the crimes of Columbus his follies cut 
a sorry figure. Yet the foolhardy enterprise to whose failure 
he owes his fame is entitled to distinction. With sense enough 
to understand the earth’s spheroid form (he thought it pear- 
shape) but without knowledge of its size, he believed he could 
reach India by sailing westward and died in the delusion that 
he had done so—a trifling miscalculation—a matter of eight or 
ten thousands of miles. If this continent had not happened 
to lie right across his way he and his merry men would all 
have gone fishing with themselves for bait and the devil a 
hook among them. Firmness is persistence in the right; obsti¬ 
nacy is persistency in the wrong. With the light that he had, 
Columbus was so wildly, dismally and fantastically wrong that 
his refusal to turn back was nothing less than pig-headed un¬ 
reason and his crews would have been abundantly justified in 
deposing him. The wisdom of an act is not to be determined 
by the outcome, but by the performer’s reasonable expectation 
of success. And after all, the expedition failed lamentably. It 
accomplished no part of its purpose, but by a happy chance it 
accomplished something better—for us. As to the red Indians, 


i 



40 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


such of them as have been good enough to assist in apotheosis 
of the man whom their ancestors had the deep misfortune to 
discover may justly boast themselves the most magnanimous of 
mammals. 

“And when all this is conceded there remains the affronting 
falsehood that Columbus discovered America. Surely in all 
these drunken orgies of beatification—in all this carnival of lies 
there should be found some small place for Leif Ericsson and 
his wholesome Northemen, who discovered, colonized and aban¬ 
doned this continent 500 years before, and of whom we are for¬ 
bidden to think as corsairs and slave-catchers. The eulogist is 
always the calumniator. The crown that he sets upon the un¬ 
worthy head he first tears from the head that is worthy. So the 
honest fame of Leif Ericsson is cast as rubbish to the void, and 
the Genoese pirate is pedestaled in his place. 

“But falsehood and ingratitude are sins against Nature, and 
Nature is not to be trifled with. Already we feel, or ought to 
feel, the smart of her lash. Our follies are finding us out. Our 
Columbian Exhibition has for its chief exhibit our national stu¬ 
pidity, and displays our shame. Our Congress ‘improves the 
occasion’ to make a disgraceful surrender to the Chadbands and 
Stigginses of churches by a bitter observance of the Sabbath. 
Managers of the show steal the first $1000 that come into their 
hands by bestowing them upon a school girl related to one of 
themselves, for a ‘Commemoration Ode’ as long as the language 
and as foolish as its grammar—the ragged, tagless and bob-tailed 
yellow dog of commemoration odes. And this while Whittier 
lived to suffer the insult, and Holmes to resent it. What fur¬ 
ther exhibits of our national stupidity and lack of moral sense 
space has been engaged for in the world’s contempt one can 
only conjecture. In the meantime state appropriations are being 
looted, art is in a process of caricature, literature is debauched, 
and we have a Columbian Bureau of Investigation and Suppres¬ 
sion with a daily mail as voluminous as that of a commercial 
city. If at the finish of this revealing revelry self-respecting 
Americans shall not have lost through excessive use the power 
to blush, and all Europe the ability to laugh, another Darwin 
should write another book on the expression of the emotions of 
men and animals. 

“That nothing might be lacking to the absurdity of the 
scheme, the falsehood marking all the methods of its execution, 



HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


41 


we must needs avail ourselves of an alteration in the calendar 
and have two anniversary celebrations of one event. And in 
culmination of this comedy of falsehood the latter date must 
formally open with dedicatory rites, an exhibition which will 
not be opened for six months. One falsehood begets another 
and another in the line of succession, until the father of them 
all shall have colonized his whole progeny upon the congenial 
soil of this new Dark Continent. 

4 ‘Why should not the four hundredth anniversary of the 
rediscovery of America have been made memorable by fitly 
celebrating it with a becoming sense of the stupendous impor¬ 
tance of the event, without thrusting into the forefront of the 
rites the dismal personality of the very small man who made 
the find ? Could not the most prosperous and vain people of the 
earth see anything to celebrate in the four centuries between 
San Salvador and Chicago but it must sophisticate history by 
picking that offensive creature out of his shame to make him a 
central, dominating figure of the festival ? Thank Heaven, there 
is one thing that all the genius of the anthropolaters can not do. 
Quarrel as we may about the relative claims of authenticity of 
portraits painted from description, we cannot perpetuate the 
rogue’s visible appearance ‘in his habit as he lived.’ Audible 
to the ear of the understanding fall with unceasing iteration 
from: the lips of his every statue in every land the words, ‘lama 
lie.’ ” 

And it is for this man that a former “learned” college pres¬ 
ident and historian, now the President of the United States, pro¬ 
claims a national holiday, Columbus Day—in spite of the fact 
that Columbus never saw the day of discovering the mainland 
of our continent; it is for this man that the public schools are 
closed October 12th through the influence of a Knight of Colum¬ 
bus society which would close them every day in the year; it is 
for this man that public money was used to erect a magnificent 
monumental lie in Washington, D. C.; it is for this man that 
Papal pen-pushers distort truth in lexicons, public school text¬ 
books and newspaper and mjagazine articles; it is in memory of 
this man that the Knights of Columbus have organized them¬ 
selves under his banner and in his spirit to go forth to discover 
ways and means by which they may violate the laws of heaven 
and earth! 



42 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


CITY SIGHTS 

ANTA FE manufactures bricks and cement—naturally 
since her city is founded on bricks thrown at each 
other and cemented with blood. The products of the 
state are gold, iron, coal, turquoise, zinc, silver, brick, 
clay, lime and copper. The farm products are fruit, beans and 
grain. Stock raising is a profitable industry. The town manu¬ 
factures much silver filgree work and the climate is fine—for 
consumptives. 

The old Santa Fe trail was the trade route between St. Louis 
and Chihuahua. By 1843 the merchandise entrusted to 230 
wagons was $450,000. Over this road trailed trappers, plains¬ 
men and mountaineers, men on foot, horseback and in prairie 
schooners. Later came the U. S. armies to have and to hold 
this outpost of a coming civilization. Think of the old coaches, 
people packed in like ivories in a dice-box and baggage.drivers, 
and stages alike, all full inside. The Jehu driver cracked his 
whip, the horses galloped, raising clouds of dust, the guards 
following with their guns and all rushing like a whirlwind 
into Santa Fe. There is a small sort of grave stone here mark¬ 
ing the end of the Santa Fe trail. In this Plaza General Kear¬ 
ney planted the Stars and Stripes in 1846. I noticed a Sol¬ 
dier’s Monument erected by the Territory. Its inscription has 
been much criticized because it refers to the Confederates as 
“rebels.” The Daughters of the American Revolution have 
built a suitable monument for General Kearney. 

I read a sign “Don’t spit on the Plaza,” yet my 33 degree 
Masonic friend Spitz has been on the plaza many years, refined 
and unfined. In his large jewelry store one finds workmen 
making beautiful filigree silver work. He gave me a Swastika 
pin for good luck and I gave him a good luck wish in return. 

The Scottish Rite Masons have one of the largest and finest 
buildings here in the U. S. It is Moorish in design, lavishly 
furnished and finished for every good Masonic work. I was 
pleased to visit it, to be shown around by brother Kennedy, 
felt I was one of the brethren and expressed my feelings with 
my fingers on the big sweet organ. This was a gala place 
when filled with the high society of New Mexico at the gover- 
nor’s inaugural ball. Some of the leading men arrived with 
cowboy hats and fur coats over their full dress suits. Others 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


43 


wore tuxedos with red neckties. The women were dressed in 
small samples of beautiful and expensive fabrics—I marvelled 
that their dresses held on—it was the one miracle I saw, the 
result of faith in this city of the Holy Faith. 

Near the Plaza there is an old and interesting Masonic 
lodge full of many historic relics. Members are proud to say 
that Kit Carson was one of their honored brothers. Literally 
and figuratively, Kit was a good “scout’’ and never led or lost 
anyone on a false trail. There is a monument erected to him 
in front of the Federal building. “Kit,” the short for Chris¬ 
topher, was a U. S. Indian agent at Taos, N. M., and was hon¬ 
ored by the government for services as scout during the Civil 
War. He was bred in old Kentucky, went to Missouri at the 
age of 17 and became a hunter, trapper and professional guide. 
He was scout guide for Fremont when he explored the Rocky 
Mts., gave him valuable service during the conquest of Cali¬ 
fornia, and took parties overland to California at the time of 
the gold rush. What Kit was and did outweighs a dozen Coro¬ 
nados and De Vargases. 

There have been many plots against the Masons, but I found 
one plot for them in Fairview cemetery where repose the re¬ 
mains of many leading citizens of the Territorj r , as well as of 
military officials. The National Cemetery has a beautiful set¬ 
ting for the veterans of the Mexican, Civil and Indian wars. 
Among the many places for the dead is Rosario Chapel and 
Cemetery. I ploughed through the snow and was tired enough 
to drop in the newly dug grave, yet kept on until I roused the 
keeper who unlocked the chapel door. This chapel is where 
the De Vargas procession ends each June, at which time the 
crowd of enthusiasts is most dense. During our visit the only 
parade we witnessed was one of barnyard fowls. Within near 
the altar, there was a dainty depiction of purgatory and hell 
in terra cotta, to remind the living where their friends were 
and whither they were going. 

Mr. Feemster, a crack shot and lover of the wild West, who 
exhibits a case of curios in 4he Museum, showed us many more 
in his room. He took us out to the Garita, an old, yellow adobe 
mud wall—a relic of a Spanish fort where traitors, murderers 
and devil-doers were lined up and shot by men who were often 
worse criminals. 


44 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Santa Fe climate is so sunshiny and salubrious that the 
natives line the sides of streets like so many lizards. It is a 
paradise for beggars and bums to live in luxurious idleness. 
Coronado had the gold-fever, perhaps he came to Santa Fe to 
find health. He and De Vargas made it very unhealthy for 
the Indians. Their idea of a good Indian was a dead one. The 
few days we spent in bright Santa Fe we felt as bitter blasts 
and biting cold, saw as much snow, and were as uncomfortable 
as if we were once again down in the Straits of Magellan or 
up in Medicine Hat. The oldest inhabitant told me it was the 
severest frost and blizzard in 39 years. Mail trains couldn’t 
get in or males and females get out. It was called “ unusual 
weather”—I think it was. The climate is dry, the best in the 
Territory—so were the people who felt their worst under pro¬ 
hibition. It is an Elysium for one-lungers—not a health re¬ 
sort for people used to the free and bracing air of open 
thought, action and discussion. Healthy for weak lungs, it is 
conducive to general mental torpidity, I fear. The air is so 
clear that things seem near that are far away—very deceptive 
to travelers starting out to some lunch counter at the end of 
the street, who fall dead with starvation before they get there. 
It is also cold. I saw natives in adobes huddling over small 
fires or in the sun trying to get warm. 

A SPANISH PALACE 

OVERNOR PRINCE of Santa Fe said in a land report 
in 1890: ‘‘This ancient Palace surpasses in historic 
interest and value any other place or object in the 
U. S.” This sounds like a piece of flatulent verbiage. 
Did he ever hear of Faneuil Hall, Boston, and its Liberty Cra¬ 
dle ; Carpenter’s Hall, Philadelphia, and the Declaration of 
Independence; or the White House and Lincoln’s Emancipa¬ 
tion Proclamation and scores of other noted places in U. S. 
history which make his Palace a barn in comparison? 
True, it was the headquarters and seat of authority which 
make a foot note to a page of American history. He is more 
hysterical than historical. However, there were some things of 
interest about the Palace, though much like Gratiano’s kernel 
of wheat in a bushel of chaff. Here Onate went East, un- 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


45 


Masonically, for light; here pusillanimous Saldivar started for 
the Moquis, but fairy stories of giants hustled him back, put¬ 
ting him without the pale of David or Jack-the-Giant-Killer; 
here Penalosa gave the Commissary General some of his own 
Inquisition medicine and shut him up in the strong room; here 
Gov. Martinez elected himself chairman on a committee of 
Death, and picking up a chair polished it on the skull of a Ute 
chief. There is one event which puts all others of American 
history to shade and sleep—the fact that General Kearney 
slept on the earth floor of the Palace after taking possession 
of the city. Think of it! One sees the room where General 
Lew Wallace wrote the last part of his Swedish novel “Ben 
Hur” while acting governor in 1879 and 1880. Did politics 
help his written style or drag his chariot in his literary race 
for fame? Yes, I sat in his chair as in Sir Walter Scott’s and 
many others, just to say I had, but I couldn’t fill them. 

The Palace has been the home of the Historical Society 
since 1885. I met a kindly gentleman, old as the curios and 
wrinkled and yellow as the parchment, who pointed out, ex¬ 
plained and directed me to a great variety of New Mexican 
historical antiquities. Here we saw how the old Indians fought 
in stone and pottery; what they did and what tools they did it 
with. Doctor Edgar Hewett, who heads the Department of 
Archeology, can pick up a stone, arrow or bit of pottery and 
erect the whole fabric of New Mexico’s civilization as Cuvier 
did an antediluvian animal from a bone. 

It would make the shade of a prehistoric Indian shake his 
ghostly sides with laughter to come here and see how we ad¬ 
mire and meditate over some of his old junk placed and la¬ 
belled under a glass case. What if our civilization should be 
wiped out and a toothbrush, collar-button, shoelace or corset 
stay were placed on exhibition in some future museum, while 
spectacled antiquarians published pamphlets and inaugurated 
schools and institutes for the life study of these souvenirs of 
departed genius! 




46 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


AN ARCTIC EXPEDITION 

E were anxious to see cave-dwellings and excavations 
that made Santa Fe look like Jonah’s gourd, the 
growth of a night. The only way one can enter the 
the true romantic spirit of these places is with an 
auto. Accordingly, one morning, we set out with Professor 
Coomer. He had a rope and a spade that we might hang our¬ 
selves if we became despondent and dig our own graves. He 
carried a barrel of water for the car and I carried a flask of 
medicinal cognac as a life-saver. Roped to the sides of our 
car were canvas for tents, boxes of bread and canned stuff to 
throw to the hungry wolves if they pursued us. 

It was freezing cold when we started out and before going 
very far we found we should have taken snow-shoes along for 
the auto, for the “beautiful snow” covered the road and the 
car slipped and bucked the snow-drifts, or playfully bumped 
the bumps, stopping to make snow balls which it threw up 
to hit us. I am not sure what torments there may be for some 
of us in the next world, but in this one I do know that riding 
across the undulating scenery of New Mexico in an open car 
in winter is all but heavenly. I tied my face up in my hand¬ 
kerchief, piled baggage on my feet, packed a newspaper in my 
cap, held the robe tightly over my chest and trunk until my 
gloved fingers were like a handful of icicles. 

Our driver’s motto was “Excelsior” and he took us mut¬ 
ton-heads up the mountain where we met flocks of thousands 
of sheep whose drivers were taking them down the mountain 
for protection from the coming blizzard. On we whirled. Be¬ 
fore us the snow-white mesas, table-land and crags appeared 
like Cyclopean castles and citadels. It is a pleasant trip in 
summer but I warn the reader not to attempt the risk in win¬ 
ter. Suddenly we saw spread out before us the magnificent 
city of Buckman, through which the narrow-gauge Denver & 
Rio Grande ran as though it feared to stop and might never 
be able to find its way out. After a careful survey, if I remem¬ 
ber rightly, the entire city was composed of 4 and one half 
buildings. One shack combined the post office, grocery store 
and freight depot; another the home of the post office man and 
mistress where all the real centre and life of the town meets to 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


47 


exchange news, sit around the stove, have a hot time and listen 
to music. Then there was a barn with pig-pen whose family 
squeal rivalled graphophone records. Nearby stood a woodshed 
with logs to shed heat if one was handy with the axe. The 
other “half’’ of the town we had no time to visit during our 
snowjourn. 

The P. 0. mistress, a kind motherly woman, was sorting 
out mail, a few letters, old papers and magazines with one 
hand, while with the other she poked up the fire in the old 
stove, made some coffee, pulled down from the shelves some 
crackers and cheese, and broke the ice on a can of condensed 
milk. This, with our own provender, kept off the wolf for 
awhile. Her husband, Mr. Stork, came in from chopping wood. 
He was tall, angular and strong, reminding me more of Lincoln 
than anyone I had ever seen. He was glad to see us and helped 
his wife entertain us. Our chauffeur professor was afraid to ven¬ 
ture up the rest of the mountain trail without him, so he be¬ 
came one of us. He was strong and warm without coat or 
gloves, for he had gotten up a good blood circulation by chop¬ 
ping a cord of wood before breakfast. His legs were so long 
that he could walk over any difficulty. If we fell down a can¬ 
yon, his endless arms could pick us up, and his hands were 
strong enough to lift the car if it turned turtle. His great 
heart could make a hundred of the pygmy politician and 
stunted statesmen sort we had left at the capital. 

New Mexico is healthy, but it is bad on your heart and lung 
action to auto up a rough, steep, icy road on the ragged edge 
of despair and a deep chasm. A descending team disputed our 
way, we got by, but the descending snow took blizzard shape, 
threatening to stop and bury us. I have seen snow from 
Alaska to Patagonia and North Cape to Switzerland, but old 
Boreas gave us a sublime snow show here. Above us, snow; 
below, the Rio Grande like a silver snake; beyond, panorama 
of pine-covered plateaus; everywhere, marvelous stone sculp¬ 
ture by the hand of Erosion, one of Nature’s grandest sculp¬ 
tors in this outdoor Museum of the Almighty. 


48 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


CAVE MEN AND COMMUNISM 

HE faces of the cliffs were pockmarked by caves nat¬ 
ural, and artificially made by the Indians. ’Twas 
foolish to go further for we were practically snow¬ 
bound, so we sheltered the car under a tree and clam¬ 
bered up to a cave. I was nearly all in with the trip and 
trudge and happy to gain protection from the blizzard. This 
cave was one of thousands that honeycomb the cliffs in this 
region. Fortunately it was empty, for sometimes wolves, 
mountain lions and wildcats take possession, as well as sheep- 
herders and outlaws. 

The party said I resembled a saint in a niche. I thought 
of Elijah in the cave at Horeb, and of some of the later ascetics, 
as well as of prehistoric man, who hitched up his three-toed 
horse, whistled to his big dogs, now extinct, and went out to 
trap a mammoth or a mastodon. Looking around my cave I 
found its walls blackened, showing former occupancy either 
from dirt of ancient Indian, or his sooty fire. The cave man 
may not have known it, but he was an expert at the art of 
pictography and petroglvphy in this Pajarito Park. Many of 
these comical stone pictures and scrawls have been obliterated, 
handled roughly by vandal tourists and time. In these moun¬ 
tains he had a wide range of subjects. There were scenes of 
hunting, birds, geometrical designs, supernatural beings, savage 
and symbolical. I fear these Indians never went to Europe to 
study art, so of course their pictographs are inferior to those 
of their cave men brothers across the sea. An artist could not 
have picked out a more picturesque place. For those who de¬ 
sire quiet this cave and community house country offers many 
inducements. 

’Tis said these caves were the ancestral homes of a clan of 
the present Tewa Indians twelve centuries ago. If you have 
acquired the love of broken pottery, from what you have seen 
in your home owing to the careless servant, you will be inter¬ 
ested and rejoice for these cliff dwellings are full of it. The 
Indians roosted and nested here like swallows at top of barn, 
or rooks on a rock. The cave kitchenettes were small and com¬ 
fortable. There was a fireplace, draught and clay,, polished 
walls. They were their own wall decoraters, loved the simple 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


49 


life, and were far above the low, worrying, extravagant life we 
drag on in the city. 

It seems wicked to waste all this sublime scenery now on 
mountain goats, sheeps, wolves, a few tourists and scientists. 
In the Frijoles Canyon there is an ancient Iviva in a Ceremonial 
Cave where the men had a sort of bachelor’s stag quarters. 
Here they could be free from feminine worriment, and go for 
a club affair, political discussion or soqie secret initiation with 
big ceremonial and blowout in the windy canyon. Above the 
cave I was in, on the top of the mountain, were ruins of an 
ancient community city. It appears there were socialists in 
the early times. L. and the guide left me and climbed through 
a rocky trail to this city of Tsankawi, and “sank away” in 
the snow to their knees. The beaten road to this town was a 
wolf trail, the place, a terraced tenement in old days, now re¬ 
sembles a honeycomb or egg-case. There is another city on an 
adjacent mountain top called Puye, meaning a place for cotton¬ 
tail rabbits. The crumbling ruins on the tableland are antique 
ant hills. At Puye the cave ruins contain 2 to 50 rooms each. 
Left to my “ice”olation, it was easy to slip back into the ice 
age. This country has been described as the “land of little 
rain”—we found it the land of much snow. The cliff caves 
looked like holes in a big cheese. I suppose the Indians were 
happy as mice in them. 

The Indian community houses were built on hill tops like 
an Acropolis. I wonder if these cities went the usual way of 
communty experiments. 7000 ft. up in the air, they are as 
much in the clouds as the “Utopia” of Thomas More and 
“Republic” of Plato. No one knows why these archaic people 
in New Mexico died out. Was it famine, war, pestilence? Did 
they, like other pueblos in this country, die of fear because of 
Apache raids? Plato advocated community of wives in his 
community city, and that the number of births should be reg¬ 
ulated by the state; More gave women more rights, but he 
had slaves do the menial work; did the Indian communities go 
on the rocks because they put these ancient ideas in practice? 
In Utopia labor had a six-hour day. Did they have it here and 
thus die of ennui and idleness? Did they pass away because 
births were regulated as under the Spartan government ? Did 
they perish because they had celibacy laws like the Shakers? 


50 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


We thought and said many things but night was coming 
soon, we must come down from our perch and that would take 
time, since we had neither the wings of an eagle nor hoofs of 
a goat, only a snowplow of an auto. We were half dead but 
the machine wasn’t—so we slid down and were again in Buck- 
man. Think of visiting a town like this twice! Sleeping ac¬ 
commodations were limited to the postoffice and pig stye, but 
that wasn’t our style, and we struck across the desert to the 
Indian Pueblo of San Idlefonso. 

SNOW-BOUND AMONG INDIANS 

S our car entered this mud village, the Indians and 
little children ran in and out of their hovels like 
gophers in holes. Directed to the leading house, for 
hotel accommodation, we timidly knocked and were 
answered by a woman who refused to take us in, not caring 
whether we starved or froze so long as it was not on her prem¬ 
ises. I mention this as a typical example of New Mexico hos¬ 
pitality and what the tourist may expect. She had no room 
in her heart or home for us, but there was love for a big bull 
for whom she opened the gate and allowed the shelter of her 
back porch. There is no accounting for tastes. 

Fortune smiled and a little Mexican grocery store took pity 
on us. The family brought us in by the lire, cooked a hot sup¬ 
per and gave us warm welcome in true chili con carne style. 
After this the professor piloted us across the pitch black plaza, 
or court of this pueblo, to the house of the chief Gonzales whom 
he had known for years. The heap big chief heaped up a wood 
fire for us and proudly brought out his wife and daughter to 
exhibit. He spoke excellent English, and had been on exhibi¬ 
tion at many national fairs. There were glass-beads, leather 
work and photos to be seen, and he told us his Indian history 
and legends, and of the fearful ravages of the Flu.among the 
pueblos. He said his people were not like the wild Apaches 
but believed in peace. Just then we heard a war-whoop of 
calls, yells, savage beating of drums, approaching footsteps 
and were prepared to be scalped according to the ideas learned 
in early years. There is a scalp dance in some of the Indian 
villages—the only type here is the cooty. The door opened and 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


. 51 


/ 

his son came in, informing us they were practicing for a New 
Year’s dance to which he invited us. More talk and fireside 
fancies, and we left to call later, that is, early next day. 

The Mexican grocer and wife gave us their daughters’ room 
and the girls acted as housemaids. We three had a stove, 
washstand, centretable ,a lounge and a bed. On one wall there 
hung a picture of the Pope with a couple of pretty girls next 
to him on a calendar. On another wall there was a framed 
marriage certificate. Since I had filled out many of them, I 
walked up to examine it and discovered that the usual printed 
matter was there but nothing written in to show who was mar¬ 
ried, and when, and where, and by whom the ceremony was 
performed. No matter, some people in New Mexico do not 
possess even this much to show that they are married. My 
host and hostess had this blank—hut more, a true proof of 
marriage relation, their children. 

All night we listened to the wild war-whoop of the winter 
wind, and the sharp arrows of sleet and snow darting through 
the cracks and windows. We were besieged by the savage 
storm. The wind took another part and mimicked the groans 
of a dying man, or went whistling by with crazy demoniacal 
fury. Morning found us snow-bound. The snow whirled 
around us in war-dance fashion. It had drifted up to the 
window-sill and the doors were barricaded. The blizzard, the 
Mexican shepherd'had predicted the day before, had come 
down like a wolf on the fold. Out of the frosty window 
we saw a snow-covered Roman Catholic church with its cross, 
and outhouse that served for the whole Pueblo—for sanita¬ 
tion was not part of its creed. Our poor auto was buried deep 
with little hope of resurrection until spring time. We thanked 
Providence that we were snowed in in a grocery store, the 
commissary department of the village, and that the shelves 
were well stocked with canned goods. In an hour the storm 
tired itself out. The sun came forth and we went out to say 
good morning to the village and take pictures. 

The chief’s son was our guide and introduced us to several 
swarthy girls, friends of his, smartly dressed in blankets, leg¬ 
gings and moccasins. We called on a beautiful Indian woman 
who made and painted pottery beautifully. Its color and shape 
were as good as the girl’s, The clay bowls wer* not phil- 


52 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


osophical as the clay population that spoke to Omar Khayyam. 
Still, I did not feel bad—if their clay lips were still, hers 
were not. 

The U. S. flag was floating over the little red man’s school- 
house. Inside the boys and girls, who had floundered through 
the snow, were floundering through their lessons. The teachers 
looked surprised at what the night blizzard had blown into 
the village. The mixtures of breeds shut their books and 
opened their mouths and eyes to see us. I am sure we were 
all glad to see each other. I told them a story, they posed for 
a picture and I am certain the public school is the great 
civilizer and melting pot in the ice and snow. 

THE KIVA 

HE kiva was the most interesting object in the Pueblo. 
It is a small eminence, a round mud platform with 
two poles sticking out of the center giving it the 
appearance of an old-fashioned ink-stand with two 
pens stuck into it, or that of a gigantic snail with horns. 

The kiva is old as the tribe, and the center ’round which 
all its history revolves. The Spaniards called it “estufa,” 
meaning oven, for there is but one opening for light and 
ventilation. The summer temperature is warm enough to 
bake, which may explain some of the half-baked beliefs that 
are mixed up with its mysterious rites. Despite the cold and 
snow my Indian guide removed his hat when he climbed the 
outside stairway to the top. The only entrance to the kiva, 
this chief council cellar, is by a ladder that descends through 
a small opening on the top of the roof. It is the holy place 
and visitors are not allowed. The Hopis believe if a stranger 
enters and looks on these rites he will swell up and burst. I 
peered around. It resembles a cellar, empty now, but when the 
city council meets it looks like a good place to plot dark deeds. 
The chiefs debate here and the civil and religious life of the 
Pueblo is ruled from this cellar. It is the Civic and Com¬ 
merce, Physic and Comic, of the town, the business bunco 
bureau and ceremonial center where Indian priests and poli¬ 
ticians meet—the place where the two curses and plagues of 
the human race set up the pins. “Keep Out” is the invisi- 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


53 


ble sign, for outsiders are not wanted, and even the women 
are only permitted to enter when they bring baskets of lunch 
for their gentlemen relatives. 

In the kivas of Moki land, during the snake dance when 
they pray for rain, the snake-priests, who resemble bogey 
men, chant weird songs and go through a lot of religious riga- 
marole. The ceremony to bring rain ends by their gathering 
on the roof of the kiva, almost naked, quaffing huge bowls 
of emetic drink and puking, this being called the ceremony 
of “ Purification. ” This is certain to bring rain, and I doubt 
it not, for the heavens are surely sick of the sight and spew 
out a shower. 

The kiva symbolizes the birth-place of man from Mother 
Earth. It is a sanctuary where prayers are offered for rain, 
harvests, war, hunting and the general “good” of the com¬ 
munity. 


SAVAGE VIRTUES 

HERE is a division of religious labor among the Pueb¬ 
los. I have known one minister to carry on city 
church work while the deacons, who should have help¬ 
ed him, expected to be carried astride his back. The 
Pueblos believe in a divinity of duality and choose a theory 
that should please the philosopher or theologian. There are 
the dualities of Father Sun and Mother Earth; of Summer 
and Winter; of Earth and Sky; of Male and Female; of Light 
and Darkness. The tribes are divided into summer and winter 
people, and the ceremonies relating to them are conducted by 
respective summer and winter committees. The Indian is a 
fine artist and doesn’t know it—also a good theologian, but 
not for mere doctrinal discussion, and he is not a pedant in 
philosophy distinguishing between monism and dualism. His 
theology is the operation of principles good and bad; his 
physiology asserts that the two hemispheres of the brain act 
separately and independently; his chemistry declares that 
every definite compound consists of two parts having opposite 
electrical activity, and that man’s nature is a combination of 
the corporeal and spiritual. Sure, he believes this stuff— 
do you? 







54 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


The Indians are reputed to have been Christianized by the 
Franciscans, but the communicants have a mixture resulting 
in a compound of holy heathenism. The Pueblos generally 
belong to the Roman Catholic Church. In the corn dance 
recently held at Santo Domingo, the Indians began their 
orgies by going to the Roman Catholic Church and having 
some Christian preliminaries. Thence they paraded across 
the Plaza with their patron church saint at the head of the 
procession, and this was followed by their Pagan ceremonies. 
When the Franciscans first came to the Pueblos and said their 
Gods were Evil, the Indians threw the Franciscans, “long 
gowns” as they called them, over the edge of the mesa. At 
a recent corn dance they caricatured the early Conquistadores, 
and the Franciscan Fra Moreos by making him; mumble 
prayers, while they burlesqued his companion, the negro 
Estrean, as flirting with the squaws. 

Their dances are made with the idea of securing food. 
Other dances are called the “flute,” the “snake,” the “eagle,” 
“deer,” and “buffalo.” There is a clown dance where by 
gesture the corn is sown, the clouds come and the rain falls, 
and in pantomime the Indian represents the growth of the 
corn from the ground. 

Lately at Santa Clara, the Indian boys were forbidden 
to smoke until they were big enough to have killed deer, 
buffalo, rabbit and coyotes, and if they sneaked off and had a 
puff they were thrown in the river. Unmarried men were 
not allowed to smoke in the presence of the elders. Not long 
since a council was called because three boys had been found 
smoking commercial tobacco. They were publicly reproved, 
and a dance of all the children in the Pueblo was ordered in 
expiation of the scandal. The Tewa women rarely smoke. 
Are there any lessons that smarty smoking young Americans 
can learn from these savages? Our U. S. atmosphere is one 
of the Inferno. The big ads in press, magazines and on bill¬ 
boards are not to advertise books, lectures and music, but 
brands of cigars, cigarets or pipe tobacco that are reputed 
to possess all the odors, flavors and excellencies of God’s best 
fruits and gifts. Big business for Red Cross, Y. M. C. A. and 
K. C.! giving good money, with the motto “In God we trust,” 
to the Tobacco Trust. Why even King James I. in his “Coun- 



CAPTAIN COOK MONUMENT, HAWAII 










HEATHEN TEMPLE, NAPOOPO, HAWAII 













HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


55 


ter-blast to Tobacco,” 1604, calls it, “A branch of the sin of 
drunkenness which is the root of all sins.” 

The Black Mesa, or Mountain, loomed up white over the 
sea of snow like the hulk of a huge battleship. In Indian 
mythology it is called the Sacred Fire mountain. Today the 
Indians make pilgrimages there and carry offerings. I can’t 
blame them for worshipping fire if they have many winters 
like this. The top is covered with the remains of half-buried 
dwellings used by their ancestors. Natives built their pit 
houses here and lived during those historic sieges that marked 
the early Spanish occupancy. What an impregnable natural 
fortress! In olden times people hied and hid themselves on 
the mountain tops to avoid the flood of water—here on the 
Black Mesa the Indians fled from the outpoured fury of their 
Spanish persecutors. 

There was no way out in the auto for it was buried in 
drifts, so the Mexican’s son hitched up his team and drove us 
back to Buckman through cold blasts and banks of snow. 
L. and I kept our hands and feet in constant dancing motion, 
not for pleasure, but to keep from freezing. It was a mem¬ 
orable trip to this little Pueblo town, which at one time had 
nearly 1,000 inhabitants, and in 1680, during a revolution, had 
its mission destroyed and its two Franciscans killed by the 
Indians. 

While waiting at Buckman for the train, five hours late, 
my Lincoln-looking friend beguiled the time by telling how 
the native population believed in ghosts, and that a woman 
came in one night and asked him to go and dig up her relative 
who was not dead. 

At last the Denver and Rio Grande engine came in sight. 
As it wound down the mountain all we could see was its bright 
eye glistening like the eye of a dragon. The snow-plow was 
higher than the smokestack. Most of the freight was snow, 
yet there was a car of baled hay for the flocks of sheep to 
prevent their starvation. We were glad to climb in the little 
coach though it was crowded to choking. It was the dirtiest, 
gloomiest, smokiest box I was ever packed in. After a ride 
in it one should take a bath in the river Lethe to forget it. 
This poor toy train had a terrible time getting through the 
drifts. The engine was superannuated and as old as anything 


56 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


we had discovered in this primeval land. It started, slowed, 
stopped and we feared we might be stalled all night and 
compelled to walk to town. But steam prevailed over snow, 
and we gave devout thanks as we stepped off at the station. 

VISIT WITH UPTON SINCLAIR 

NE Sunday afternoon at Pasadena I called on U. S., 
not Uncle Sam, but Upton Sinclair. I was at Los 
Angeles and he at Pasadena—both of us busy, but 
not too much so to prevent a sympathetic and sincere 
talk. He seemed terribly out of place in that millionaire city, 
his house a shed compared with their splendid palaces. There 
was no auto driveway to his door or butler’s servant to usher 
us in, just a walk over a dirt path towards an humble door 
that opened, and a young man without collar or hat, in yellow 
coat and blue pants, with unshined shoes, came out with 
smiling face and extended hand and said, “Hello, Golightly, 
I have just been reading your ‘Devil in Mexico,’ and you are 
certainly some language-slinger. ” He is not the only one who 
can throw the English Bull. 

Sinclair is in a class by himself, not a millionaire one, but 
the wealth of ideas and ideals makes all his beer, chewing gum 
and safety razor kings and neighbors look like thirty cents 
plus a lead dime. We entered his sanctum. The floor was 
bare, the books were in a corner, papers were strewn about, 
there was a pile of letters, a small typewriter, his key to 
knowledge, an anvil on which to forge his thoughts and forge 
ahead. 

I spoke of his “Profits of Religion” which I had just read 
and said I wished I were rich enough to buy and give a copy 
to every minister in the United States. He laughed, picked up 
a new copy and wrote on its cover, “To Golightly Morrill 
with best wishes for socialism—Upton Sinclair.” 

He had been blackguarded, lied about and his books boy¬ 
cotted. I had just passed through a year of that experience 
and could sympathize with him and love him for the enemies 
he had made. 

This did not mean that I fully understood or wholly agreed 
with all he had said or done, but that I believed his initials 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


57 


U. S. stood for Universally Sincere, that he loved man, his 
rights and freedom, and hated everything and everybody who 
would enslave man’s body, mind or soul. As I looked into 
his intelligent face and felt the force of his words, I could 
but wish him long life and success every day and way. He 
has no love for Bastiles of thought; for a humanity whose 
ideal classification divides society into two classes, beasts of 
burden and beasts of prey; for a social order that would 
shame a pack of wolves; and any church which seeks to make 
God a greater tyrant than the Kaiser. The day is gone when 
the bonehead can call honest thought blasphemy. 

A LINCOLN WARNING 

INCLAIR believes in religion and prophets, but not 
in the profiteers whose text and sermon is firstly, 
secondly and thirdly “The Profits of Religion.” In 
the spirit of earth’s greatest prophet, he would enter 
the temple church today, overthrow the tables of the money¬ 
changers’ ministry, and drive out all who have made God’s 
house of prayer a house of merchandise and a den of thieves. 
If you have not read Sinclair and think he simply writes 
and talks about poor Lazarus in Heaven and rich Dives in 
hell, suppose you read what Abraham Lincoln, a well-known 
American gentleman, said, a something you will find omitted 
from sermons, speeches, editorials, school books and popular 
Lincoln biographies. In his message to Congress in 1861 Lincoln 
wrote: 

“It is assumed that labor is available only in connection 
with capital, that nobody labors unless somebody owning 
capital, somehow by the use of it induces him to labor. But 
labor is prior to and independent of capital. Capital is only 
the fruit of labor and could not have existed if labor had not 
first existed. Labor is the superior of capital and deserves 
much higher consideration. I bid laboring people beware 
of surrendering a power which they possess and which if 
surrendered, will surely be used to close the door of advance¬ 
ment against such as they, and fix new disabilities $nd burdens 
upon them until all of liberty shall be lost. 






58 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


“ Monarchy itself is something hinted at as a possible refuge 
from the power of the people. In my present position I could 
scarcely be justified were I to omit raising a warning voice 
against the approach of returning despotism. There is one 
point to which I ask brief attention; it is the effort to place 
capital on an equal footing with, if not above, labor in a 
structure of government.” 

Again, in a letter to a friend in Illinois, Lincoln says: 

“But I see in the near future a crisis approaching that un¬ 
nerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my 
country. As a result of the war corporations have been en¬ 
throned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, 
and the money power will endeavor to prolong its reign by 
working on the prejudices of the people until all wealth is 
aggregated in a few hands and the republic is destroyed.” 

VULGAR, VICIOUS VERNON 

OS ANGELES was a cemetery after 9 P. M., Bacchus 
had been banished and his Venus and venial votaries 
followed him to Jack Doyle’s and the Vernon Coun¬ 
try Club outside the city limits. You may go there 
by auto or street car in 15 minutes. There were many trolley 
line rides out of town but this was the best according to the 
number of fares. Our street car was full of old bums and 
new sports who sprawled, sat or lounged about. The talk 
was of booze, women and horses and punctuated with pointed 
profanity flavored with strong breath. 

At Jack Doyle’s there is a picture gallery of all the fight 
favorites over the bar. Over the bar, too, you may get a punch 
and some knockout drops from two dozen bartenders. It is 
unnecessary to go to Venice to see the glass-blowers. One man 
had a load with a kick in it, for one of the many policemen 
on duty gave him the toe of his boot and put him out. 

I saw some reels out in front, but the real life is just be¬ 
yond at the Vernon Country Club, a combination of* saloon, 
restaurant and dance hall. This is the movie heaven and the 
stars appear here at night. Plowing through an acre of autos, 
we reached the door, paid fifty cents and entered the liquor 
oasis of the Los Angeles prohibition desert. Music was playing 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


59 


but the Muse of music would not recognize it. In Collin’s 
Ode, Music was a “heavenly maid,” played in Greece and 
was Wisdom’s aid, was chaste and sublime—perhaps, but not 
at Vernon. It was jazz gone drunk and crazy. This dance 
hall where a thousand can dance, that is, contort and cavort, 
and as many guzzle and glut, was a scene to delight the heart 
of the prodigal son and daughter. 

Through clouds of cigaret smoke we saw the movie stars. 
These “heavenly bodies” have very earthly souls. Some 
were “fixed” stars at tables, others “falling” into partner’s 
arms, and “shooting” stars were shooting love glances to 
each other. I fear these stars have a baleful influence over 
many people’s lives throughout the world. Some other stars 
seemed votaries of Astarte, the licentious goddess to whom 
a temple has been erected in Hollywood. I have been there, 
but not to worship, and talked with men who lived there who 
say that morals and movies are not inseparable, and that Holly¬ 
wood is a sort of Daphne grove where the Seventh of the 
Ten Commandments is largely forgotten or erased. 

We sailed through this nebulas of male and female stars, 
who could not be scientifically classed with the Milky Way 
according to the kind of liquids they were drinking. A mov¬ 
ing picture of this crowd would disgust the public from 
future waste of time or money on them. 

“Hawaii” was another room with a bar around it over 
which broke waves of booze. L. and I, to be friendly, drank 
a lemonade, gave up a buck and walked over to the Hawaiians. 
A beautiful Hawaiian girl who had been born in Butte, Mon¬ 
tana, or Seattle, came out into the middle of the room. Her 
breakfast food skirt was a fit and her dance a convulsion. 
It was a disappointment, neither artistic nor obscene. The 
young greenhorns and the old tinhorn sports, closed up around 
her, ogled, applauded and urged her on with Simian smiles 
until her loose manner nearly loosened her two-piece skirt 
and at the same time loosened the pocket-books of her ad¬ 
mirers. Quarters, halves, dollars and bills were rained down 
during this storm of applause. A fool and his money are soon 
parted. Had it been done to bribe her never to repeat the 
performance, it would not have been so bad—but alas, this 
lass did but receive greater encouragement to give another 


60 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


dislocation dance that was anything and everything except 
the Hawaiian hula. We grew sea sick at the motion of her al 
“leg” ro furioso. It was more than 2000 miles off from the real 
thing. 

A pretty woman came up and said “Hello, Dr. Morrill,” 
and I knew it was time to go to the hotel—with my son— 
and we did. In the spirit of George Washington at Mt. Ver¬ 
non I have told you the truth of this whole matter. 

Prohibition is a good thing in Los Angeles. Previously 
one had to hunt all over the town for his friends, now he 
knows just where to find them—at Vernon. I w T as glad to get 
away from the smoke and swirl of the Smart Set, nauseating 
nebulae, and go out under God’s sky wdiere I could breathe 
the fragrance of the nearby slaughter-house. 

THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

R. Is Dead” was the press telegram, the bolt from a 
clear sky, that blinded my eyes in the depot at Los 
Angeles. It could not be. I had in my pocket a 
letter from him, dated October 30, 1918ffrom his New 
York office saying, 

“My dear Mr. Morrill: 

I thank you, and look forward with pleasure to reading 
the book. 

Faithfully yours, 

(Signed) T. Roosevelt.” 

It was my recent book “On The Warpath.” I have many 
letters, which he has written to me during the years of our 
friendship, but this last one, though his shortest, will be 
longest remembered. 

Theodore Roosevelt is one of the great names in the world’s 
history. The letters T. R. always stood for Truth and Right¬ 
eousness. He was aggressive and progressive and indicated 
the high water mark in the tide of the world’s civilization. 
His shadow is bigger and more powerful than the bodies of 
our bulky blockheads who lumber the Cabinet rooms in Wash¬ 
ington today. The U. S. is weary of swivel-chair senators, 
wrist-watch statesmen and piddling, piffling politicians. 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


61 


The saddest words of tongue or pen—“what might have 
been,” if Theodore Roosevelt had been president and sent a 
warship to Vera Cruz, taken the Americans aboard, and told 
the Mexicans that if they did not keep their treaty obligations 
with the U. S. he would blow them off the map. Then Germany 
would have known we had a man with a backbone for president 
and not one with a cotton string; that we fired shells and not 
firecrackers. Then there would have been no “watchful wait¬ 
ing,” the Lusitania would not have been sunk, and thousands 
and thousands of our brave American boys would not have 
rotted on European battlefields. 

The biggest nation mourned her biggest man when “Teddy” 
died. He was always alive and ever picturesque, patriotic 
and princely. He was a young giant with a big stick that 
smashed to smithereens every sunny-faced falsehood. In private 
life his character was above suspicion. In public life he 
kept the spotlight man busy. With Washington and Lincoln 
he forms a Trinity that Americans daily worship in spite of 
the commandment, “Thou shalt have no other gods before 
me.” Had Carlyle lived he would have placed Roosevelt in 
his “Hero and Hero-Worship.” 

Roosevelt loved America, its plains and mountains. To 
him America began and ended with “A no. 1.” Some years 
ago when I was traveling in Europe the criticism of our 
government and leaders was sarcastic and severe. I patiently 
listened and finally said, “Well, what’s the matter with Roose¬ 
velt?” Instantly there came the reply, “Nothing, he’s all 
right,” and the abuse of my country ceased. 

In brain and thought, hand, head and heart, Roosevelt 
was a giant. Simple in home life, sincere in politics, clear in 
intellect, clean in heart, pure in patriotism, virile in his per¬ 
sonality, he was a bright and shining light of a 100 per cent 
pure Americanism to us and to the world. 

He illustrated a sentence from one of his speeches, “In the 
long fight for righteousness the watchword for us all is spend 
and be spent.” Strenuous, democratic, Christian, he indelibly 
influenced state, home and church. “Fear God and take your 
own part” was the title of his book and the volume of his daily 
life. 


62 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


He was our Sir Knight, hating everything that was evil— 
the world-champion for a square deal for all. As man and 
American he deemed nothing foreign to him that related to 
mankind. 


PLAGUES 

ORTEZ and Pizarro were bad Spanish plagues in 
Central and South America, yet they never killed as 
many as General Spanish Influenza who brought his 
grippe to Boston last year, smuggled its contents of 
contagion through the customs, and made a thorough tour of 
the United States. I buried his victims at the rate of four a 
day in Minneapolis, but did not meet him personally until I 
reached ’Frisco. 

Kipling wrote, 1 ‘ San Francisco is a mad city—inhabited for 
the most part by perfectly insane people, whose women are of 
a remarkable beauty.” That’s the way it looked to me as I 
entered it one night from Los Angeles. The Mask of Death 
was being played in the theatre of the city. Men, women, po¬ 
licemen, conductors, newsboys, sailors, soldiers, working £nd 
professional men, rich and poor, young and old, wore masks. 
It appeared to be the convention city for the world’s Ku Klux. 
Had it not been for the chilly breezes I could have imagined 
I was in Constantinople with the veiled women and prophets 
of Khorassan. 

The mask was very becoming to people with receding chins, 
poor teeth, thick lips and flat noses; very convenient for burg¬ 
lars and street-holdups; embarrassing to smokers and chewers, 
and to women who wanted to talk and show their ruby lips 
and pearly teeth. Of course, the health board was delighted, 
and I didn’t care since I didn’t have to shave twice a day. 
The restaurants were amusing. Patrons hung masks on their 
ears, to prove they had them and these white rags moved up 
and down like wings and flags. The city resembled a ward 
full of operating doctors and attending nurses. At a leading 
church the deacons, who passed the plates, came up the aisles 
like pairs of Dead-Eye Dick bandits, and the congregation was 
prompt in its contribution. The minister removed his mask to 
preach. However, there were several in the choir who should 
have kept them on as mufflers, or to strain their sour music. 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


63 


Once again we sailed to the Barbary Coast, that old plague 
spot of the town. Woe is me, its former beauty and glory 
were departed. The streets were dingy, many historic places 
were silent as death, the dives and dance halls were dark, the 
bars were inviting, but the flu ban had hurt business. On this 
Barbary Coast souls are still being wrecked. The music said 
“come in,” and the girls looked and said the same thing, but, 
nix. I saw the police putting men out of the dives because 
they had no masks on, and the girls along the line felt put out 
because they were compelled to wear them. The inducement 
to sit down or stand up before the bar with these masked 
maidens was not very great. In vain did these damasked 
beauties invite us to travel along their primrose path. L. and 
I made the rounds on both sides of the streets, and of the 
joints up and down stairs, but the siren music of these harpies 
was jangled. A paunchy cop told us how the flu devastated 
the district so that the shrieks and moans of the dying had 
been heard above the squeak of the phonographs. There was 
no lure to these Lorelei. Behind the masks of gayety one 
could see the ravaged face of disease and disgust. This back¬ 
door entrance to Hades is unattractive. Not many enter here 
now, they prefer the lights, flowers and music of the front door 
—big cafes, clubs and hotels. 

The brightest light we saw was in a basement mission—no 
admission—simply the Gospel invitation of, ‘‘Come, without 
money and without price.” We entered, listened to song and 
prayer" and left with prayer for the success of those faithful 
ones who were seeking to save the lost. 

Dear old ’Frisco, always the same! Were one to come here 
a hundred years hence, he would see and hear the same or 
worse. But she wears her wickedness on her sleeve and is nq 
hypocrite like some of her sister cities. The same string of 
splendid, sinful cafes are here to entangle and strangle. They 
were full of soldiers and officers. Food and femininity were for 
sale. As they drank wines many looked as if they longed for 
Nepenthe to forget their sorrows. Boys brave abroad were 
being overcome by women at home. Like Apollonides, they 
were encountering girls who killed with their eyes all those 
on whom they looked too long. Women were enchanting with 
enchanting words, and as fascinating as those Nymphodorus 


64 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


wrote of. At these tables of revelry Death was the waiter, and 
the forbidden fruit they ate, like apples of Sodom, turned to 
dust and ashes on their lips. 

There was prohibition talk in the air but the air of liquor 
was everywhere on the breath of the people. As soon imagine 
’Frisco harbor dry as her bars—or a world without political 
corruption, religious cant, telegraphs and newspapers. Drunks 
were commonly seen on streets and in hotel corridors. One lay 
flat in the hall way howling near my room, delirious with drink. 
I have heard many arguments for and against the saloon. Let 
us be fair and not intemperate in our judgment. I know one 
good thing that can be said of a saloon I have in mind—it is 
closed. But will it be closed in the United States so long as 
our president wants wine and beer ? 

I thought I was some traveler, but in many lands I found 
the Plague had landed long before me. He is a great globe¬ 
trotter and I saw him in India, Egypt, Peru, Mexico and China. 
As companions, he travels with Mars and Mors, and they never 
weary of each other’s company although they have been to¬ 
gether for thousands of years. 

The world has always been a pest-house and beplagued with 
plagues. In Egypt, Jehovah used ten plagues to free the Israel¬ 
ites—plagues of blood, frogs, lice, flies, murrain, boils, hail, 
locusts, darkness and death of the first born. Thucydides de¬ 
scribes the “Plague at Athens,” telling how the temples were 
full of the corpses of those who died, and that when one man 
raised a funeral pile, others threw on their dead first and set 
fire to it, or when some other corpse was already burning, be¬ 
fore they could be stopped, would throw their own dead upon 
it and depart. 

One of the blackest pages of history is that which tells of 
the Black Death. It was so called because the patients, in ad¬ 
dition to boils, had black blotches on their bodies. It is sup¬ 
posed to have originated in China and come to England by 
way of the Black and Mediterranean seas. It broke out in 
1348 and 9, one half of England’s five millions died, and 
100,000 in London alone. There was great mortality because 
of lack of sanitation and the fact that people had been enerv¬ 
ated by half a dozen previous attacks of a similar nature. 
This “Great Pestilence,” as it was called, reappeared in 1362- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


65 


7-9, and in Ireland in 1370. This was immedately followed by 
the reappearance of the Flagellants, the persecution of the 
Jews in Germany and the general upheaval of trade and agri¬ 
culture. 

In his “Journal of the Plague Year,” Defoe tells of shut-up 
houses, the dead-cart, pest-hole, the plague-stricken lunatics; 
how delirious infected people threw themselves into pits where 
the dead were, and were buried alive; how some drank and 
others prayed; how people shrieked and fell dead in the streets, 
or threw themselves out of the windows; how mothers mur¬ 
dered their own children in lunacy, and suicided by hanging. 
In treating this plague-stricken populace, quack physicians 
frequently tortured many to death. 

Dr. .Hodges, in his “Loimologia”, refers to the hungry Lon¬ 
don children hanging on the breasts of dead mothers. Death 
was midwife and children passed from birth to burial. Some 
lay vomiting in the streets, lovers died in their first embrace. 
Vincent speaks of Death’s pale horse galloping down the 
streets and how people fell thick as leaves in autumn. Nothing 
was heard but groans of the dying and the creak of carts car¬ 
rying away the dead, while the churchyards were stuffed with 
the dead piled up in tiers. 

Hecker says that in Avignon the Pope found it necessary 
to consecrate the Rhine river that bodies might be thrown in 
without delay, since the churchyards were full. In Vienna 
1200 died daily, corpses were stacked up like cordwood outside 
of the city and plague patients were buried alive. In England 
there was death of soul as of body. Churches were priestless, 
morals were low, avarice abounded, lawj^ers grew up thick to 
dispute inheritances. Cattle had murrain and beef reached 
recent wartime prices. Clement VI. hurried up a jubilee cele¬ 
bration of the faithful to Rome in 1350. This made the plague 
break out anew and scarcely one in 100 escaped. Italy was 
stricken and those who returned spread disease and immor¬ 
ality. 

Europe lost 25,000,000 in the Black Death. This ill-wind 
from the cemeteries blew good for the church. The dying gave 
her all. If she did well after the Crusades, she did better now 
for she filled her fists with treasure and land property. Like 
a vulture she battened and fattened on the dead. 


66 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


To this Iliad of death woe was added another. First from 
Hungary and then Germany came the brotherhood of Flagel¬ 
lants, cross-bearers, or brethren of the cross, as they were 
called. It was made up from the lower class, either because 
they sincerely hoped to pray away the plague, or because fat 
and lazy, they didn’t want to work and took religion as a pas¬ 
time. Such people ought to be licked even if they had to do 
the job themselves, and they did. It was a new fad. The 
more foolish the bigger the crowd to join, and so some nobles, 
churchmen, nuns and children united On they came in black, 
red crosses on breast, back and cape, and with triple scourges 
knotted and iron-pointed. The fanaticism was fast and furi¬ 
ous. Men sang, women embroidered banners for them and 
they were wined and dined. All this helped spread the plague. 
Dirt and devotion made new conquests. 

The author of the Flagellants was said to have been St. 
Anthony of Padua, 1231. When Italy was a sink of vice and 
crime, a spirit of virtue suddenly rose. People met, each had 
a whip or cat-o’-nine-tails of leather with which they whipped 
themselves to bloody cuts, and blood and tears mingled. It 
was a scourge of death in which they scourged themselves. 

Burning zeal showed itself literally. Believing the plague 
was the result of poison, somebody poisoned the ears of the 
people by charging that the Jews, rejectors of Christ and haters 
of Christianity, had poisoned the wells and gassed the air. It 
started in Switzerland, “the land of liberty.” In 1348 at Chillon 
they were persecuted, prosecuted and fiendishly tortured. At 
Basle they ran the Jews into a wooden building and without 
sentence or trial burned them. When fire and sword were not 
used, the Jews were banished. At Eslingen the Jewish com¬ 
munity went into the synagogue, locked the doors and set the 
place on fire. Mothers on the street threw their children into 
the fire pile to avoid baptism, and then themselves. Instead 
of the plague’s bringing sincere grief, it gladdened mad mobs 
and incited to murder and marauding. A terrible picture, yes, 
but no worse than Jew-baiting pogroms today. And we are 
told the world is growing better ! 

In Florence, an edict forbade the ringing of church bells 
or publishing the number of dead to keep the people from 
despair. No toll of bell for toll of dead. Boccaccio says the 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


67 


rich and well forgot the poor sick, shut themselves up in homes 
and ate, drank and had music; instead of mourning there was 
mirth. Often the stench of the body was the first indication 
of death. Early passers by were startled to see dead bodies 
out in front of the homes. Often whole families were placed 
on one bier, while on the way to the cemetery one funeral was 
followed by a half a dozen more that had fallen in line. 

In a later century, during the cholera at Paris, Heine heard 
the whetting of the scythe of Death ringing distinctly in his 
ears. He describes it as a Reign of Terror far more dreadful 
than the first because the executions took place so rapidly and 
mysteriously. “It was a masked executioner who passed 
through Paris with an invisible guillotine ambulante.” There 
was a rumor that instead of dying of cholera the people of Paris 
were falling dead because their food was poisoned. “There 
rolled through the streets a dark flood of human beings, in 
which, here and there, workmen in their shirt sleeves seemed 
like the white-caps of a raging sea, and all were howling and 
roaring—all merciless, heathenish, devilish. I heard in the Rue 
Saint-Denis the well-known cry, ‘a 1a. lanterne!’ and from 
voices trembling with rage I learned they were hanging a pris¬ 
oner. Some said he was a Carlist, and that the brevet du lis 
had been found in his pocket; others declared he was a priest, 
and others that he was capable of anything. In the Rue Yau- 
girard, where two men were killed because certain white powders 
were found on them, I saw one of the wretches, while he was 
still in the death-rattle, and at the time old women plucked 
their wooden shoes from their feet and beat him on the head till 
he was dead. He was naked and beaten and bruised, so that his 
blood flowed; tbey tore from him not only his clothes, but also 
his hair, and cut off his lips and nose; and one blackguard tied 
a rope to the feet of the corpse and dragged it through the 
streets, crying out, ‘Voila le cholera-morbus! ’ A very beauti¬ 
ful woman, pale with rage, with bare breasts and bloody hands, 
was present, and as the corpse passed her she kicked it. She 
laughed to me, and begged for a few francs reward for her 
dainty work wherewith to buy a mourning-dress, because her 
mother had died a few hours before of poison.’’ Heine writes 
that the crush at the cemeteries was appalling. “Mourning- 
horses of the hearses stamped and grew unruly, it seemed to 
me as if the dead themselves were growing impatient, and, tired 



68 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


of waiting, were in a hurry to get into their graves; and when, 
at the cemetery gate, one coachman tried to get before another, 
and there was disorder in the line, then the gendarmes came in 
with bare sabres; here and there were cries and curses, some 
vehicles were overturned, coffins rolling out burst open, and I 
seemed to see that most horrible of all emeutes—a riot of the 
dead.” 

To lovers of gruesome tales, who wish to add fancy to fact, 
I recommend Poe’s “King Pest,” and “Masque of the Red 
Death”; Hawthorne’s “Lady Eleanor’s Mantle”; and Field¬ 
ing’s, “A Journey From This World to The Next,” where in 
the City of Disease he finds the roads smooth leading to it and 
the suburbs lined with bagnios, taverns and cook shops. 

The Black Death was followed by another pestilence. In 
its wake came the whirling eddy of the mad dance, called St. 
John’s or St. Vitus’. It was seen in Germany in 1347. People 
went mad, foamed at the mouth and screamed furiously, leap¬ 
ing and jumping. These votaries of St. Vitus made the streets 
a dance house. It was a mad Mardi Gras. Farmers, artisans, 
men and women joined the crowd and followed on as rats did 
the Pied Piper. It was a chance to gratify the wildest passion. 
Beggars and idlers fell in line, adding mimicry and imposture 
to those who were really infected. It was a maelstrom that 
gathered all to it and moved on in spite of priestly prayer and 
exorcism. 

Music was the magic to drive away the madness, as now it is 
the chief incentive to “On with the dance.” Week-day and Sun¬ 
day, in street and church, people clasped hands, formed circles 
and danced around until they fell exhausted on the ground. 
An eye-witness relates that a woman danced for a whole month. 
Another remedy was said to be a strong, swift kick. Still 
another help was to swathe cloths about their waists or to 
give a thump to the affected part. The victims saw imaginary 
devils and called their names aloud, or said they jumped up 
high to avoid drowning in a stream of blood. Others imagined 
heaven opened and they saw Christ and his mother enthroned. 

The plagues of the past are not a pleasing picture, but we 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


69 


have some afflictions of our own which are distasteful. Here 
are a few:— 

Frenzy of Jazz band: 

Melancholia of Moving Pictures: 

St. Vitus Dance of Rags and Trots: 

Gangrene of Party Politics: 

Hydrophobia of Fake Patriotism: 

Jaundice of Sectarianism: 

Fever of Hero-Worship: 

Inflammation of High Cost of Living: 

Locomotor-ataxia of Rotten Robber Transportation Facili¬ 
ties : 

Ophthalmia of Newspapers and Magazines: 

Senile Debility of Diplomacy: 

Nausea of Billboards: 

Spleen of Christian Cigaret Controversy. 

Apoplexy of Capitalism: 

Asphyxiation of Automobiles: 

Heart-Failure from Styles of Clothes: 

Ear-Ache from Pianolas and Graphophones: 

Neuritis of Chewing Gum : 

Ulceration of Slums: 

Leprosy of High Society: 

Coma—the Drama: 

Palsy—Gambling: 

Delirium of Drink : 

Scrofula of Social Evil: 

Convulsions of War Poetry: 

Eczema of Tenements: 

Diphtheria of Gossip: 

Sick-Headache from New Thought: 

Rabies of Lynch Law: 

Dropsy of Prohibition: 

Decomposition of Art: 

Poison of Propaganda: 

Cancer of War: 

Asthma of Preaching: 

Sclerosis of Religion : 

Epilepsy of Political Oratory. 




70 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


A SOUTH SEA PRINCESS 

E called on a South Sea princess at ’Frisco whose home 
we had previously visited at Papeete, Tahiti. You al¬ 
ways have a royal time in ’Frisco but not always with 
royalty. Cooper gave us the “Last of the Mohicans”; 
it remains for some one to give the final chapter in the history 
of the kings and queens of the royal family of the Society 
Islands. 

The sub-equator island of Tahiti had entertained us years 
ago according to the hospitality of the Society Group. It was 
a French Elysium. Nature had showered her gifts, human 
nature was gay and careless all the warm days and nights. 
Business was booming with copra trade—then came the all- 
conquering King Death, a ruler who will never be dethroned 
on earth. 

Quarantine officials at Papeete, as lax as those at Boston, 
permitted a pestiferous crew and boat to dock. Stevenson, in his 
dark tale of “Ebb-Tide,” describes the ravages of influenza at 
Papeete many years ago. Who can picture this? The simple 
natives thought the flu was denge fever and jumped into the 
water for cooling and comfort. They were caught like fish in 
a net and soon gasped and died. At night fires could be seen 
on the hill tops burning the dead like bodies at the ghats of 
Benares. 

Mrs. Atwater’s brother, Tati, chief of the island of Tahiti, 
in early days was the companion of Stevenson and La Farge, 
the artist. He went among his stricken people everywhere in 
the spirit of Florence Nightingale, while many French govern¬ 
ment officials, thinking solely of themselves, closed their offices 
and left or shut themselves in. Two others, who did the Good 
Samaritan act, were the American Valentine Wilson, and Major 
McQuarrie, the Englishman who wrote the book, “Over Here.” 
Prince Tati died and was mourned by all the natives. His 
monument is in the loving remembrance of those who survive. 
In that beautiful island with its Diadem mountain let there be 
erected a granite shaft with this inscription, “Greater love hath 
no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.” 

Mrs. Moetia Atwater, the princess, was personally as at¬ 
tractive and vivacious as ever. She is a woman of rare intel- 






SLEEPING BEAUTY 


















CITY OF REFUGE, HAWAII 









HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


71 


lectual and conversational gifts, is world-traveled and widely 
educated. She sadly told us she expected to return by the next 
boat to that island graveyard of her dead where the royal fam¬ 
ily would end its history and the royal estate be divided among 
them as individuals. 

The Grizzlies,* California’s soldier boys, returned and parad¬ 
ed Market street. The day was gray and chill but the reception 
given was warm-hearted. Red carnations instead of carnage 
blazed from their rifles. Like Browning’s patriot, “It was 
roses, roses, all the way. ’ ’ 

THE RED-TAPE WORM 

URING the war it was very easy for German spies and 
propaganda-spreaders to go anywhere in the world 
they wished, but when it came to patriotic American 
citizens who wanted to visit Hawaii, as much a part 
of the United States as Nevada or California, they were insulted 
and treated like escaped criminals. 

Although my steamship tickets to the islands had been pur¬ 
chased for two months, it was necessary to secure a Department 
of Labor permit. Mr. C. W. Seaman of the Minneapolis branch 
of Immigration Service had kindly filled out and sent my appli¬ 
cation to ’Frisco in advance, receiving word in return from 
Mr. Meehan that it was not the practice of his office to approve 
the application of any person who desired to depart from the 
U. S., except on “essential business,” and further he consid¬ 
ered there was the possibility of a permit card being denied me 
on arriving at ’Frisco. 

I immediately sent a wire to the Department of State, to 
R. W. Flournoy, Jr., acting chief of the Bureau of Citizenship, 
inquiring why an American citizen could not visit Hawaii, an 
American possession, when he was in search of rest, health and 
material for literary work. The war was over, Hawaii was not 
in the war zone and the islands belonged to the U. S. As usual, 

I received no reply from this Circumlocution office, not even 
a polite answer. Of course not, his bureaucracy was paid to 
do nothing—and it never neglected its duty. Men might go 
and sell booze and shoddy to the heathen; go on wild-cat specu¬ 
lation to the uttermost parts of the earth — but that was 





72 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


“trade,” and it “followed the flag.” Vanity Fair drummers, 
with trunks of devil’s merchandise, had plenty of ship room. 
Masons, in the spirit of their great George Washington, willing 
to give body, mind and soul to their country, were denied trans¬ 
portation to Europe, for war activity, later were put on the 
same footing with Y. M. C. A. and Iv. C. workers, yet were pre¬ 
vented from doing anything directly except through these 
bodies. Be it known that there were over 100,000 of these Ma¬ 
sons in the army of the government, with liberty as their slogan 
and victory as their object. Liberty loans, war fund drives 
bagged millions from them—they were the leading spirits in 
the Red Cross and Y. M. C. A., but were kept out of war and 
refused permission to go to Europe. Individually, they worked 
loyally with every society but the K. C.’s which bars Masons 
from its membership. Masons gave blood, brains and bonds 
but were turned aside. This society of Freemasonry, the only 
non-sectarian and harmonizing influence in America, which 
would have instantly received and commanded the respect of 
all the nations of Europe, was kept away and held away as an 
institution. Why? Ask Tumulty, Flaherty and Hurley. 

I was told again and again that space on ships must be con¬ 
served in war time. Yea, verily. In the year ending June 
30th, 1917, at a time w r hen it seemed impossible to carry food 
to the starving Belgians, the port of pious, baked bean, loudly 
heralded Boston, cleared to British West Africa 766,634 gallons 
of rum besides distributing more than 80,000 to other countries. 
Though shipments of necessities of life grew exceedingly diffi¬ 
cult it was this same port of Boston that shipped to British 
West Africa in 1916, 1,049,144 gallons of rum, more than four 
times the amount shipped to the rest of the world. 

It was Paul Bourget, the famous French critic, traveler and 
writer, who sized up this God and Mammon spirit. Of his 
friend John Bull, his good neighbor across the channel, he said: 
“In the temple he is a publican crying aloud, ‘O Lord, I am but 
a miserable sinner’—outside its door a Pharisee setting up for 
a marvel of virtue. A worshipper of Mammon and Jehovah, 
the man most concerned in the interest of the next world and 
most wrapped up in the concerns of this.” He says further, 
“It is not at the Abbey of Westminster, it is on the facade of 
the Bank of England that there ought to be written: ‘Here 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


73 


England shows her gratitude to her great men'.” When one 
reads the above English statistics, he recalls what Heine penned, 
"A blaspheming Frenchman must be a more pleasing object in 
the sight of God than a praying Englishman. ’ ’ 

At ’Frisco I called at the Immigration Office and was intro¬ 
duced to Mr. Meehan, telling him that my wife, son and self 
desired to take the next boat to Hawaii of which fact he had 
been notified from Minneapolis. He first said there was no 
room on the ship, and I told him I had secured passage two 
months before. “You are not going on any necessary busi¬ 
ness,” he said. I told him it was necessary to get travel ma¬ 
terial for that was my means of support. I then said health 
was an object of the trip and I needed the rest and recreation. 
He replied it would be necessary to secure a statement to that 
effect from a local physician, which I went out and did. On 
returning he told me that he was sorry he could not allow the 
passport because my passport to South America had been con¬ 
fiscated a year ago. (Dost thou wish to know what a passport 
is, Reader? ’Tis a red-sealed, bombastical document given some 
Americans who go abroad, branding them as foreigners and 
inviting other nations to laugh at and annoy them as much 
as possible.) I replied the case was nolled, but he only took 
my word for it when I wired Minneapolis to wire him that 
such was the case. Then removing my hat I turned to the flag, 
saluted it and said, “My country, I love it, God bless it—the 
Democratic party, I hate it, God damn it. ” Mr. M. was startled 
and said, “What did you say?” and I repeated it louder and 
more clearly, adding that it was not a profane oath but a Chris¬ 
tian prayer I had been offering for some time and hoped heaven 
would soon answer. Next morning he called me over the phone 
and said he had heard from Minneapolis and everything was 
all right and I might go—and so I got the permit, and the flu, 
because the running around and worry for three days to and 
from his office made me susceptible to the little flu bug that 
got me. 

The world-wide war seemed to have made the United States 
the safest place for autocracy. At Washington, instead of 
acting the part of a Good Samaritan, and binding up unfor¬ 
tunate wounds, the diplomatic doctors tore them open and 
poured salt into them. The Administration seems to have had 


74 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


a job lot of men who were thoroughly prepared to take the 
place of the Kaiser and the Czar in Europe. 

Hawaii is not foreign, but part of the U. S. Tourists were 
pouring by tens of thousands into Cuba, Florida, California, 
Japan and China, but the big wall had been removed from the 
Orient and erected around the Sandwich islands. 

This wartime regulation regarding travel to Hawaii w r as 
not only un-American but stupid. It’s about time for Uncle 
Sam to be just to Americans as well as generous to Europeans. 
It was harder to get a permit to the paradise of the Pacific 
than it is for a poor soul to get a passport to heaven. The 
Administration officials are suffering from a red-tape worm 
that is feeding on the vitals of the Democratic body politic. 
I fear it will keep on until St. Peter is a Democrat and only 
Administration lovers may expect to hear, “Well done, thou 
good and faithful servant.” 


DONKEY WORSHIP 


W'l AHOMET, it is said, went to heaven on an ass, refus- 
| IV1 I ing fiery chariots, winged horses and celestial sedans 
—autos were not then in vogue. Today we are told 
t&ESSSsJ from Washington that no one can enter the political 
paradise unless he rides the Democratic Donkey. 

Augeas, king of Elis, had a herd of three thousand oxen 
whose stalls had not been cleansed for thirty years. Hercules 
turned the rivers Alpheus and Peneus through them, and thor¬ 
oughly cleansed them in one day. For nearly eight years, the 
President has stabled the Democratic donkey and a herd of 
Southern mules in Washington, and it will require a Hercules 
of some other political party to turn the Potomac River and 
Atlantic ocean into it before it becomes clean and sweet. 

In the Book of Numbers we read that Balaam smote his 
ass to turn her into the way, and she kicked, refused to go 
further and spoke, saying, “What have I done unto thee that 
thou hast smitten me these three times?” How much longer 
will the Democratic Donkey stand the heathen treatment from 
its drivers before it will refuse to go a step further? 

Caligula contemplated making a horse a consul—I know of 
a modern mad despot who has selected a Southern jackass for 
his counsel—Col. House. 



HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


75 


Samson slew his enemies with the jawbone of an ass—the 
present Administration has jawed to death some of its best 
friends. Partisan politics would even change the Scripture 
to read, “Re-publicans and sinners.” 

Smollett, in his ferocious satire, “The Adventures of an 
Atom,” in which he pillories the political nincompoops of Eng¬ 
land, describes the fanatic followers of the “White Horse” 
which they worshipped and swore by, implicitly, without hesi¬ 
tation or mental reservation. Their creed, paraphrased and 
brought down to date, would be like the following which we 
Americans are expected to accept:— 

“I believe in the Demorcatic Donkey, that he descended 
from Heaven, and sojourned in the United States which is the 
land of promise. I believe in Wilson, his apostle, who first de¬ 
clared to the children of Uncle Sam the gospel of latter day 
democracy. I believe that the Democratic Donkey was begot 
by a black mule, and brought forth by a green dragon; that 
his head is of silver, and his hoofs are of brass; that he eats 
gold as provender, and discharges diamonds as dung; that the 
American people are ordained and predestined to furnish him 
with food, and the people of the North to clear away his litter. 
I believe that the continent of North America is joined to that 
of Europe ,and that whoever thinks otherwise shall be damned 
to all eternity. I believe that the smallest portion of matter 
may be practically divided ad infinitum: that equal quantities 
taken from equal quantities, an unequal quantity will remain; 
that two and two make seven; that the sun rules the night, 
stars the day; and the moon is made of green cheese. Finally, 
I believe that a man cannot be saved without devoting his 
goods and his chattels, his children, relations, and friends, his 
senses, and ideas, his soul and his body, to the religion of the 
Democratic Donkey as it is prescribed in the ritual of Wood- 
row Wilson.” 

ALL IS VANITY 

PTIMISTIC philanthropists and philosophers, who are 
in danger of wrecking their bark on the rock of 
cheerfulness, should read what Diderot says in his 
“Rameau’s Nephew” about the vanity of everything. 
“What? the defense of one’s country? Vanity! There is no 





76 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


longer such a thing as one’s country. . From pole to pole I 
only see tyrants and slaves. Giving help to one’s friends? 
Vanity! 'Who has friends, and if one had, would you have 
one make them ungrateful? Look well into it, and you will 
see that nearly all who are ungrateful have had services done 
them. Gratitude is a burden, and every burden is made to 
be shaken off. The holding of a place in society and the ful¬ 
filling of its duties? Vanity! What does it matter if one has 
a place or not, provided one is rich, since no one takes a posi¬ 
tion except to become so? What does the fulfillment of one’s 
duties lead to? To jealousy, persecution and troubles. Is that 
how one makes one’s way ? Pay one’s addresses. S ’death! 
Pay one’s addresses. Wait on great people, study their tastes, 
lend oneself to their whims, make oneself of use in their vices, 
and approve of their injustice—the secret is there. ’ ’ 

Wise words, yet I never heard them during the last two 
years from press, pulpit or platform—that was the last place 
to look for them. 


TRAVEL 

BOUT every eight months I want to pack up and go, 
but not to find new forms of boredom. Perhaps I 
inherited my love for world travel from my ancestors 
Adam and Eve who scarecly set up house-keeping in 
Eden before they broke up and started for another place. To 
me travel is not a curse but a blessing, making me feel the 
force of Baudelaire’s “Voyagers” who tried to book with 
Death, saying— 

“We would wander Hell and Heaven through, 

Deep in the Unknown seeking something new.” 

I have read the alluring adventures of Ulysses among 
giants and sirens; of Aeneas, in burning cities and in Hades 
speaking to ghosts, and attacked by chimerical birds; of Sin- 
bad, and his exploits with the Roc and floating island; of Aris¬ 
tophanes, and his Bird City, the “Clouds” and ride to heaven 
on the back of a dung-beetle; of Lucian’s hero who traveled 
in the stars, and of his trip through space where the spiders 
and fleas fought in the sky, and where women lived whose 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


77 


fingers terminated in bunches of grapes and whosoever kissed 
them immediately became drunk—I have read of Hyper- 
borea where happiness was a birthright and the inhabitants 
became so surfeited with it that they committed suicide from 
boredom; of a continent with immense cities beyond the ocean 
where flowed the rivers of Pleasure and Pain; of a land where 
dreams came true; of the Arimaspi, who spent their lives fight¬ 
ing for gold with griffins in the dark; of the Fortunate Isles 
where men lived with split tongues and rubber bones, who 
worshipped the sun, were happy bachelors, and when they 
were old and near death, slept on a perfumed lawn that gave 
them a voluptuous death; of the Astomians, whose gowns were 
made of feather-down and who lived on the scent of the rose; 
of Cyrano de Bergerac’s trip to the moon, where folks had 
enormous noses and instead of eating food, simply inhaled the 
odor of cooking; of Plato’s Republic, More’s Utopia, Bacon’s 
Atlantis, of Gulliver’s and Munchausen’s travels; of Rabelais’ 
Pantagruel in search of the Holy Bottle; of Shakespeare’s 
“Tempest” island where dwelt Prospero, Ariel and Caliban; 
of Fielding’s “Journey from this World to the Next”; of 
Dante’s tour of Hell; of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe; of the Fly¬ 
ing Dutchman’s cruise to the Enchanted Islands of the At¬ 
lantic; of the Island of Demons; of Satan’s hand; of fairy 
regions known to mariners as Cape Fly-Away; and the Coast 
of Cloudland. I tried to get tickets to some of these rare and 
wonderful places, and many more, but found that owing to 
war conditions travel facilities were very limited, passports 
impossible, and so for the third time I headed for Honolulu. 

Since leaving Minneapolis I had experienced difficulty, dan¬ 
ger, discomfort and disease—the usual chances in the game of 
life. What of it? If nothing happened one might as well stay 
at home, twiddle thumbs and sit on the register. It is the un¬ 
usual and unexpected that attracts. I would much rather 
drown at sea or fall in the crater of a volcano than tumble 
down my cellar steps and break my neck. Give curiosity a 
chance. Perdition catch the day when everything is cut and 
dried, when we all look, think, dress and act alike, when per¬ 
sonality is gone and we have no more individuality than a 
bushel of potatoes. The bug of travel had bitten Gautier, 
too, who wrote: 


78 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


“And ought we not, after all, to explore in part at least, 
the planet upon which we keep whirling through space until 
its mysterious Creator is pleased to transport us into another 
world where we may read another page of His infinite work? 
Is it not clearly laziness to keep on spelling the same word 
without ever turning over the page? What poet would be sat¬ 
isfied to see a reader keep to a single one of his stanzas?” 

Another Frenchman, who knew something and wasn’t 
afraid to say it, Montaigne, says: 

“Nature has placed us in the world free and unbound; we 
imprison ourselves in certain straits, like the kings of Persia, 
who obliged themselves to drink no other water but that of 
the river Choaspes, foolishly quitted claim to their right in 
all other streams, and, so far as concerned themselves, dried 
up all the other rivers of the world.” 

AN OCEAN “ENTERPRISE” 

FTER a week’s imprisonment for being guilty of the 
flu, the jailer, Doc. Howard Herrington, a good 
Shriner, opened the door and bade me go free. 
Providence was plainly on my side for my good ship 
“ Enterprise ” was delayed in the hands of the dock for a 
week, until she and I were both strong enough to make the 
trip. I was taken from my hotel, bundled up as if bound for 
Alaska, placed in an hermetically sealed taxi, and whisked to 
the pier. I looked around to see the boat and asked where it 
was—a man said, “It’s hidden behind that trunk over there.” 
Sure enough, what a baby boat for the big sea! 

My week’s preparation to set out for the other world, to 
make my voyage between time and eternity, the paid earthly 
premiums on my insurance, proved me prepared—but was it 
for this? Had my case been nolled; a journey of 2000 miles 
made across plains, deserts and mountains; had I. like Alex¬ 
ander, cut the Gordian knot of official red-tape at ’Frisco; and 
escaped death by plague to risk my life in a tub like this, to 
go to sea in a sieve? Hercules went to sea in a boat made of 
a lion’s hide—but he was a brave man. When I recalled the 
storms encountered in great ships on the Pacific, all I could do 
was to pray for calm weather, and that the Divine Pilot of 
Galilee would be on the bridge. 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


79 


The “Enterprise’’ was no ocean greyhound but a kind of 
mongrel-cur bark. The ticket agent had told me she was a 
big new boat; evidently he had not seen her, his business was 
simply to book and “bunk” me. She was small, over thirty 
years old—never mind, we were not bothered with stewards 
and cabin boys to carry our luggage. The Matson Co. makes 
it very convenient for travelers in this respect. We carried 
our own bags on the boat after nearly slipping in between 
dock and side of ship. L. dragged the trunk on board and 
into the stateroom. I was placed in a steamer chair on deck, 
wrapped up like a mummy, told to keep still and out of the 
draught. 

The day was clear, we cleared only 12 days behind schedule, 
and the “Enterprise,” with her good Swedish iron bottom, slid 
through the waves as slowly and smoothly as she had for over 
a quarter of a centmy. Just after passing the bar there were 
some passengers who emptied their dinners and impolitely spat 
in Neptune’s face. No wonder he gets riled, and I looked for 
a storm—but he took it all smilingly. 

This was a freight boat, accustomed to carrying sugar and 
pineapples, not human cattle. There was but one deck and it 
was so narrow that after meals it was difficult to navigate be¬ 
tween the scupper and the steamer chairs, though after dark 
it was easy for lovers to steer clear of hindrances. Our pas¬ 
senger list was crowded with two dozen souls. Some over¬ 
flowed into the dining cabin at night, so that if you looked in 
on them you were likely to lose your appetite for breakfast. 
The cabins were of dry-goods box size, and not dry if you left 
the port open in stormy weather. There was no ship orchestra 
at meal times, though fiddles were nearby to be used in the 
selection, “Storm at Sea,” or “Life on the ocean wave.” I 
think there was one bathtub on board where you might bathe 
if you got a chance. An Englishman’s home is his castle, and 
the morning bath, next to his whiskey and soda, is the chief 
duty at sea. He would have been courageous, indeed, to have 
taken his “bawth” for eight days here—such daring would 
have demanded a Victoria cross as reward. The salon parlor 
resembled the second landing of a stairway in a New York 
tenement, and was furnished with a piano and phonograph. 


80 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


It was for this travel de luxe accommodation that the gov¬ 
ernment raised the rates and added a war tax, sending first- 
class passengers across on a freight boat. 

One lady passenger received the greatest attention—it was 
simply scandalous. I knew there was much latitude at sea, but 
this was too much. I later learned she spent one night in the 
captain’s room and another in the first officer’s. I photo¬ 
graphed her one afternoon on deck in the arms of one of the 
passengers. One might think from her actions that this was 
not her first sea voyage, and that she had been to Honolulu 
before. She was rather dark, had small ears, prominent mouth 
and teeth. If Thackeray said George Sand looked like a 
“horse,” I should say this lady resembled a dog—in fact, she 
was a dog, a thoroughbred bull dog and enroute to her Chinese 
owner in Honolulu who valued her at $500 or more. We 
watched her for she was on the dog-watch all the time. This 
dog was much unlike some of the other females on board who 
smoked cigarets, stayed up late and flirted with every other 
man on the boat. One of them was rebuked by a man who said, 
“If you don’t quit this, I’ll tell your husband when we dock.” 
Yet, what can you expect? Venus rose from the sea and set 
feelings in motions that are always experienced on the ocean. 

Life was far from blue on the blue wave. There were rab¬ 
bits and chickens aft, and “wild-cats” fore. First-mate Peter¬ 
son was the animal-keeper for the latter. He directed us to 
the bow to see them, and we did, they belonged to the nautical 
species. They are very tame except when unchained and let 
loose—then beware. 

There were some who left Frisco with us, who were not 
allowed to sleep in the dining salon, and all they had to eat 
was the refuse from our table. Yet they did not complain, 
seemed to be grateful, all they asked for was more and it was 
generally given them. This war-time condition seemed as hor¬ 
rible as the stories of the atrocities of the early pirate ships. 
Why do such conditions exist? Why? Because they were sea¬ 
gulls, gullible reader. I even envied them. On this crowded 
boat they had oceans of room—all the sea and the sky. 

It is a sad fact that five of our passengers died from over¬ 
crowding. They were cooped up in a chicken-coop and were 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


81 


not buried at sea, but in the soup after our soothsayer cook 
had examined the viscera, discerning good omens. 

Honolulu boasts of her fine aquarium, but the finest fish 
tank for variety, number and color is the Pacific Ocean. The 
flying fish by the side of the boat resembled a handful of scat¬ 
tered silver thrown to a diver. We sighted a whale, doubtless 
spouting to a school of fish, and suddenly changed our course. 
This was either because our kind captain did not wish to dis¬ 
turb their studies, or so that our boat might not strike the 
whale and be wrecked. Happy whale, thou who canst travel 
from 'Frisco to Honolulu as often as thou desirest without a 
travel permit, and who art never held up by inquisitive dolts 
to ask thee w T hether it was one of thy orthodox ancestors, or 
one of another school of theology, who didst figure in the 
J onah incident. 

Our ship had no culinary camouflage, no save food signs to 
spoil your appetite in calm weather, and to be a useless admo¬ 
nition when a big sea was running. Out on the ocean our mouths 
watered for three square meals, and three times a day we sat 
down and rose full and satisfied. Too bad that Archestratus, 
that kitchen philosopher and pothouse poet who composed an 
Epicurean epic on good eating, and who traveled over land and 
sea, not like Columbus to discover new countries, but new dishes 
for the table, never lived to travel on the ‘‘Enterprise.” Had 
he made one trip with us he could have written another vol¬ 
ume on “ Gastrology. ’ ’ What poor food Chris, and his crew 
had compared with ours. His boats were stocked with rats, 
cockroaches, vermin and vermicelli—ours with abundance, 
from soup to nuts. Every meal was a captain’s dinner and 
temptations to gluttony were almost impossible to withstand. 

Captain Youngren w r as a real tar no matter how his boat 
pitched. In looks he suggested old King Cole, a merry old 
soul, and in generous disposition he was like Santa Claus. He 
loved everybody, especially the ladies, old or young, married 
or unmarried. At the head of the table he was father to the 
whole family. Though old in years he had a smile, a “young 
grin.” The first and last to leave the table, he encouraged our 
appetites so we could eat in fair or stormy weather. If we 
were indisposed, he was the only doctor on board, and three 
times a day, before meals or between meals if necessary, we 


82 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


could go to his cabin, get his diagnosis of the case, and from 
a nearby case take the same simple medicine. His very look 
and laugh was the Scripture prescription, “A merry heart 
doeth good like a medicine.’’ His big hands were full of many 
ship duties, yet he never neglected the doctor’s duty of holding 
and feeling the pulse, especially if the patient had large eyes 
and a pretty mouth. 

Neptune in all his ocean caves never possessed a more come¬ 
ly collection of fascinating nymphs than those that filled the 
walls of the captain’s cabin. His sea library was not dry. He 
knew the path from Coast to island as the postman does his 
city route, and had left his hills in Norway to climb the moun¬ 
tain ranges of the Pacific. Cleopatra or a crocodile were not 
more familiar with the Nile than he. Water was his element— 
he had seen and sailed all the seas and knew its vasty and 
yeasty deep. His face was bronzed with sunbeams of many a 
clime and he was the son of the land of the Midnight Sun. 
His look and laugh, attitude and accent, could produce a laugh 
quicker than a professional humorist, and if you wanted an all 
around day and night companion on the deep or in the com¬ 
panion way, Captain Youngren was the man. 

Alexander’s admirable admiral, Nearchus, made 1500 miles 
in five months and received a crown of gold. This was nothing 
to the “Enterprise” that made over 2000 miles in seven and a 
half days and for which we rewarded the captain with golden 
opinions. 

A sea voyage may be a novelty and pleasure to the tourist, 
but I know that many of the old salts are tired of the run, and 
would as soon or rather do something else. They regard a trip 
as a sort of punishment and can sympathize with the Persian 
Sataspes, a nobleman, who committed a crime punishable by 
death, and whom Xerxes commanded to be crucified. A friend 
of the victim persuaded the monarch to change the sentence 
into a sea voyage around Africa, which was considered a much 
more severe punishment. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


83 


AT LAST! 

HE early morning of the eighth day I came up on 
deck and could have imagined I was with the Ar¬ 
gonauts. Strange to see the wide, flat waste of the 
sea for a week, and then to open your eyes on an 
enchanted island with sunlit pinnacles and vales filled with 
violet mists and green-clad cliffs. The Creator who made these 
islands w r as an artist. I rubbed my eyes to see whether I was 
awake or walking in my sleep. In reality here was a vision 
as beautiful as Coleridge saw in his dream of Kubla Khan. 

Then we neared Mokapu, Koko and Diamond heads nodded 
to us. Our old friend, the city of Honolulu, was waiting to wel¬ 
come us and waved its palms to us. The hills were all decked 
out in rainbow ribbons, the waves raced in helter-skelter, 
tumbling over each other on the coral and sand to tell our 
friends we were coming. Then the big blue eyes of the har¬ 
bor winked recognition. Even the doctor was pleased to see 
us and came out and gave us the glad hand. A score of por¬ 
poise-looking Kanakas swam out along side to view us, to 
dive for our dimes ,and their mouths were soon literally pursed 
up with silver. Honolulans are so anxious to get the tour¬ 
ists’ money that they land on him before he touches the shore, 
and should he leave by the next ship, and have any money left, 
they pursue him swimming out to get it. 

In early days a ship was a strange thing here, and the 
natives ran down to the water’s edge, nearly tipping the island 
over to see it come in. This may account for many of the up¬ 
heavals in the group. Our arrival was almost as unusual, for 
ever since the war ban on ships, and the rank Democratic deal 
Hawaii had received, ships had been few and far between. 
Honolulu has the trade winds but wants more trade. So al¬ 
though it was early Sunday morning, there was a crowd at 
the pier. The reason was that war had killed all Saturday 
night gayety, and the people retired early and arose the same 
way. In spite of the absence of the band, with their native 
roundelays, and of the native women with their flower and 
paper leis, we were glad to get off our sea legs, land on our 
feet, walk over to the wharf phone, where we said, ‘‘Aloha’’ to 






84 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


our friend Mrs. Emmans, who replied, “Aloha Nui.” We were 
soon in our old quarters at Waikiki beach. 


SOAP-BOX BOATS 

EXT day at the dock we saw some water-logged craft, 
wooden ships built during the war, sea tragedies. 
With a smile the seamen call them “soap-boxes’’ and 
a dirty failure. To make a voyage in them is like 
going to sea in a net. They come into port with several 
feet of water in the hold, are hauled up on dry dock and 
“fixed.” They are scarcely out of harbor again before they 
spring a leak, sending up signals of distress for help. Hurley, 
and his shipping board, was a joke, with poor timber, defective 
machinery, careless labor, inefficient officers and crew. We re¬ 
peatedly saw these boats along the coast and islands, ugly, 
skulking, hulking, lumbering things, floating proofs of partisan 
politics. Why, a third-rate pirate would be ashamed to go to 
sea in one of these crates. Even the rats would desert them. 
Yet the Public Misinformation Bureau, of which Creel was the 
high priest, sailed into print, giving us daily cargoes of praise 
for these worse than Noah’s Arks. For real efficient worth 
they were idle as a painted ship on a painted ocean. 



ALOHA! 

IFE shows itself in action. If you are not dead you 
will move. Here I had been only five days in heaven¬ 
ly Honolulu and wasn’t sorry to leave it. The beauty 
of these islands is that you can get away from them. 
The distance to the island of Hawaii is short, 192 miles to Hilo, 
but if you take the steamer “Kilauea” you will remember the 
trip a long time. 

Most things are stationary but the ship is the one thing that 
keeps on the move like the tide. Going or coming, the boat is 
the one unfailing object of interest to the Hawaiians who are 
on the dock to meet it. This is one of the leading occupa¬ 
tions of the Honolulu people. Many boats keep them busy. 







HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


85 


It’s a God-send—without them they would die, for with the 
cargoes, there are occasional exchanges of ideas. How I envy 
the simple souls who dream their lives away under a palm tree. 

There was a collection of people at the wharf of all shades 
and color, possibly because two senators were leaving, or for 
the pleasure of weeping for departing friends. Some were Hono¬ 
lulu girls sorry to see their soldier boys leave Schofield Bar¬ 
racks to return to the islands. There was a lay-out of leis and 
passengers were buried in leis like animated busts. The native 
band played, the native women sang, and our steamer Kilauea, 
named after the volcano, emitted a cloud of smoke, rumbled 
and quaked within, and it was “Aloha.” I use this word be¬ 
cause all writers use it so much, and without it no book is com¬ 
plete. Don’t be surprised if I work this word in every other 
paragraph, for though it is short, it is a wonderful word, and 
makes it appear as if the author knew the Hawaiian language 
and all its people. One needs but three or four words in these 
islands. I got along with the following—“Aloha” (welcome) ; 
“wikiwiki” (hurry) ; “pilikia” (trouble) ; “wahine” (wom¬ 
an) ; “okelihau” (rum); “pau” (finished); “hula hula” and 
coca-colo. If you don’t learn some of these words you won’t 
be able to translate the motto said to be over heaven’s gate— 
“Aloha! Pilikia Pau.” 

The sea floor was smooth as a native politician and flat as 
many high-salaried sermons. The only motion aboard was an 
exhibition of hula dancing given by some Kanaka soldiers, ac¬ 
companied by several ukelele players fished up from below 
deck. This trip gave us ukes instead of pukes. The uke has 
been described by an island bard as, 

‘ 1 Snooky-ukum, 

Cutey little, 

Spooky little, 

Hootchie-kootchie uke.” 

There should be a “ukase” against this sort of poetry. To 
the playing of music was added the playing of cards, dice and 
gambling below. Scattered on the floor of the hold was a mass 
of life. The deck was paved with both sexes young and old, 
a hodge-podge of humanit}^, a dozen nationalities lying side by 
side with boxes and bundles all around them. The air was so 





86 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


hot I feared these people of many colors might all melt to¬ 
gether like so many different pieces of candy in a paper bag. 
The odor proved to be anything but sweet. 

ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT 

T grew rougher in the channels and “Kilauea” fell 
in line and swung from side to side, waltzing o’er 
the waves. There was no sleep till morning and 
we stood on deck instead of lying in the stateroom. 
At 1:00 A. M. the boat anchored a mile off the wharf of Mahu- 
kona. We wobbled down the gang into the lightless lighter 
and were rowed by the smoky boat crew over the star-glint¬ 
ing waters. It was unusual and felt piratical. A picture of 
our party would be taken for a body of bold buccaneers silent¬ 
ly sneaking ashore on some bloody, booty business. We cast 
furtive glances back at the ship and its blear eye, while the 
moon, tired from its tramp across the heavens, or pale and 
seasick from sailing the ocean of space, was now leaning suspi¬ 
ciously against the smokestack, or over the deck rail. 

Romance picked up her skirts and fled when we landed 
and beheld a row of smelly autos staring at us with their 
dim-headlight eyes, and their swarthy drivers waiting to take 
us and our money. “All on,” I said to my party, “allons” 
to my chauffeur, showing him the letter of introduction to a 
certain Mrs. Achilles—not the wife of Homer’s hero, for the 
Court House has no record of the marriage, though his es¬ 
capades with some girls are chronicled in the Iliad. ’Twas he 
who quarrelled with Agamemnon over the maid Briseis, and 
when the Purity Squad backed up to his tent to make a raid 
and carry the girl away, he stayed behind and sulked leaving 
his countrymen to fight the enemy the best they could without 
him. 

We went like a tin-can tied to a dog’s tail, waking up the 
sleepy villagers, and the echoes, which are light sleepers and 
readily roused, as you know from reading literature. Along 
shore, walls, under trees, through plantation towns, across 
country for more than an hour, bouncing in our seats like 
corn in a popper, we raced. The moon looked like a red 
banana dropped from the banqueting table of the Gods. 






LAVA OVERFLOWING, KILAUEA, HAWAII 




KANAKA GRAVE, PUNA, HAWAII 









HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


87 


Finally the hotel was reached. It was dark, we were not 
expected. I stumbled up the steps and knocked at the door 
persistently as death, until it was opened by Mrs. A. who pre¬ 
sented a flashy appearance with kimono and flashlight. She 
eyed us, took the letter and read it, and said there was no 
room for us. I suggested she need not be alarmed for we were 
all peaceable, would even pay for a place to sleep, whether 
on the hall stair or in the bathtub. But it was useless. Then 
I gave her my card with my home address. “Was I an Epis¬ 
copal clergyman ?” she asked. No, only the pastor of the 
People’s Church, made up of all creeds, conditions and classes, 
and meeting in a theatre. Horrors! That ended it, let no 
such man be trusted. This house hotel of hers is isolated 
from town, forsaken, and off the beaten track, except *for a 
convention of mosquitoes or some traveler who has dropped 
down from the sky. And why were we there ? On the sug¬ 
gestion of the Honolulu Promotion Committee Tourist Bureau 
which gave us a “bum steer,” though it is expected to be on 
the lookout for travelers, and see they are hospitably cared 
for. We had long known about Achilles’ heel, here we felt 
her foot, for we were politely kicked out at 2 A. M. She 
turned away our party of four, two ladies, L. and myself, en¬ 
couraging us to find accommodations at the Kohala Club 
several miles away, but saying it wasn’t a very good place. 

At the Kohala Club there was a light for us belated mor¬ 
tals. We climbed under the mosquito netting at 3 o’clock, 
leaving a call with the Jap servant for 6 A. M. It seemed we 
were barely undressed when the sugar whistle blew us out 
of bed at 4 A. M., with a shriek so loud it must have disturbed 
the people of another planet. At six we were called and 
dressed for breakfast. The place was clean and the grub was 
good. This K. C., Kohala Club, is run by two Masons of high 
degree, McDougall and O’Brien. What they didn’t know, or 
couldn’t do for us, couldn’t be known or done. Before pro¬ 
hibition days this club was wetter than Hilo. The thirsty and 
dusty traveler was welcomed by the host with one hand while 
he poured out liquid libations of cheer with the other. In 
one room of former glory I saw stained glass—wine and liquor 
glasses, telling of departed spirits that still haunt this deserted 



88 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


banquet hall with lights fled and garlands dead. All that is 
left to console them is the mosquito bar. 

Our host anticipated our wants, told us what we wanted 
to do, where to go, what to see and how to get there. Like 
magic days of old I had but to wish, rub my hands and an 
elegant auto appeared in a cloud of dust and smoke. 

THE NAPOLEON OF HAWAII 

AMEHAMEHA I. was the big chief of this island. 
About 1790 some Americans visited the island and 
called on him with firearms in one hip pocket and 
firewater in the other. In exchange for this, Kam. 
gave them sandalwood, the price of the slavery of his people,, 
for he drove them out to the mountains and made them get 
it. What were the native’s arms of flesh against his arms of 
fire! Thus was he able to shoot and subdue all before him, 
establishing a dynasty that lasted till 1894. 

If living today Kam. could get the position of head pig¬ 
sticker in Armour’s slaughter-house. The house of Hawaiian 
royalty he made for himself was built on human bones and 
cemented with human blood. 

Kam. wrote no book, there was no daily paper, and if he 
kept a diary some jealous stenographer or typewriter made 
away with it. No Boswell has given us his complete life, but 
what we know of it w T as far from perfect. 

He first visited Kohala the stormy November night of his; 
birth in 1736. He died in 1819. Kam. overran the island like 
a plague; insulted, robbed and murdered as a pastime; ta¬ 
booed and made sacred to himself everything he wanted;: 
killed little chiefs to be the big chief; made rivers and water¬ 
falls of blood; choked valleys with dead and thus “consol¬ 
idated” the islands. 

Like a young rake, who later becomes a religious man, 
he tried to make reparation for past ravage. He busied him¬ 
self banishing theft, murder, rapine and brigandage. So 
did the chief island devil seek to exorcise Satan’s sway. To 
admit that he was better mentally and morally than the other- 
chiefs of his day, is not to say much. As well declare that 
Nero was better than Caligula. 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


89 


He began the royal dynasty, but had to die, and nasty in 
his life, his death was celebrated with nasty performances that 
trampled decency to death. Hell broke loose ,and passion 
burned and destroyed like a volcano. In the old days a king’s 
death meant a Saturnalia—possibly because the downtrodden 
Kanakas were so tickled to get rid of them. At Kam.’s de¬ 
mise a chief suggested that his body be eaten, but the Ha- 
waiians fearing ptomaine poisoning, said “No!” After his 
bones had been deified they were hidden in a cave in North 
Kona, and like Moses, no man knoweth the place of his burial 
unto this day. 

We paid our respects to Kamehameha’s statue which 
stands on a pedestal in front of the Kohala Courthouse, a 
sublimated woodshed. This is the original statue of himself, 
the one at Honolulu being a base imitation and worshipped 
by a poor fellow who is off his base and should be in the 
pupule (mad) house. The Kohala statue must have been three 
sheets in the wind, for it fell overboard coming around South 
America, but was rescued by divers before it went down the 
third time. There are two taboo sticks in front of it that 
look like short flag poles with heavy ball tops. The statue 
is clad in the Hawaiian style of B. V. D.s, a sort of Roman 
helmet crowns Kam. ’s head, a yellow bathrobe is thrown care¬ 
lessly over his shoulder, one hand holds a spear to balance 
himself from falling off the native stone pedestal, while the 
other is raised in a Henry George gesture, “I am for 
men.” The figure would make an excellent wooden Indian 
sign for a cigar stand. I climbed behind the sacred taboo 
sticks and was photographed, thus violating a “Keep off the 
grass’” sign that in Kam.’s life would have cost me mine. 

KNOCKING ABOUT KOHALA 

HE real kingly things were the ironwood trees, mon- 
archs of the forest who proudly stood waiting our 
salutation. We saluted with our auto’s exhaust, 
passed by cane fields where Jap girls were working 
like men with the hoe; by gulches where we saw bowls of 
rice in mountain basins of hills; and arrived at a clean wash¬ 
out bridge, proving that in spite of travel folders there are 





90 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


hurricanes here. This storm that walked over the islands will 
furnish talk for ten years. Formerly there was a rail on this 
bridge on which a fish-god rock had been cemented as an orna¬ 
ment. Kam. had carried it from the beach. It must have been 
a flying fish for it was nowhere to be seen. We passed vil¬ 
lages and schools, our good car easily making all the grades. 
For fear of being ditched we omitted the Ditch Trail, but 
climbed to the edge of the precipice overlooking points and 
pointlace waves, then into valleys green as the tourists who 
visit them, and trails climbing like snakes up the shoulder of 
'the mountain. 

A Chinese girl wearing pants came panting up the trail 
with a burro laden with charcoal. She could talk English 
and politely introduced us to her mother, her chaperone. 
Some might have pitied her, yet she was far happier than 
if she had spent her life with human donkey companions in a 
city. Here was an illustration of Stevenson’s story, ‘ 4 Travels 
with a Donkey.” 

Returning to Kohala with the feeling that the scenery im¬ 
proved on second sight, we stopped by a sugar-mill large 
enough to keep its black coffee-colored help sweet. They were 
carrying out the cane and were as sooty as if coming from a 
coal mine. This monster mill had an awful maw that chewed 
up all the carloads of cane rushed to it. 

We bumped over a monotonous, rough road, but across 
the smooth channel we saw the island of Maui, and Haleakala, 
“House of the Sun,” with its roof in the big blue sky. At 
the tip end of the island we reached a rise of ground, neared 
the beach and surprised a nymph at the bath. She was a 
quick-change artist, threw on her holoku, and jumped on her 
horse before we could come up and say, “How are you, I 
am glad to see you.” 

On a rocky beach were discovered the iron ribs of a boat 
wrecked many years ago. It was all rust and a fine spot to 
rusticate. At a little way up the slope was something resem¬ 
bling a cattle corral. I am poor in geometry, but I stumbled 
over this stone parallelogram often enough to learn it was 
over 800 feet long, 20 feet high and 8 feet broad. As an 
ankle-sprainer and shoe-destroyer, these Hawaiian heiau, 
heathen temples, are unsurpassable and deserve the first pre- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


91 


mium. The sacrificial stone was reddish as if colored by blood. 
We nearly broke our necks over several stones, and the heat 
was sufficient to incinerate us. I could readily see how bodies 
were sacrificed and burned. 

Paao was the Samoan contractor and builder of this tem¬ 
ple in 1585. He was at the head of the Immigration Bureau 
from Upolu. It is said these stones were passed from hand 
to hand from Niulii. They were loose, smooth and covered 
with vines that tripped you at every step. The janitor had 
been very careless for the grounds were covered with one of 
the finest crops of weeds. There were two deep rock wells 
within the temple walls dry as we were. Fifty years ago two 
polished disc idols, eight or ten inches in diameter, were found 
in a secret crypt and thought to have been brought over from 
Samoa. Who smuggled them and why is not known. Had I 
made an earlier visit I might be able to tell you. Everything 
is tame and dead now. Sorry we Were not here when the 
gods made visits; when these heathen temples were in full 
blast with idol gods so hideous they would scare you to death, 
for they were not handsome like the Greek gods; people 
fleeing to Cities of Refuge, and bloody battles everywhere. 
Those were the good old times! Here an excellent oppor¬ 
tunity to meditate was lost on account of the heat—my loss 
is your gain. 


HEATHEN SACRIFICE 

HE “bloody business’’ which struck Macbeth with hor¬ 
ror was a picnic to the Hawaiian sacrifice. As with 
Shylock, sacrifice was the badge of the Kanaka tribe. 
It is an event with us when we dedicate a church, 
launch a ship, or lay the corner stone for the White House, 
but our celebrations fall flat compared with the old Hawaii- 
ans\ They couldn’t launch a new war canoe, build a new 
house for their chief, or dedicate a temple without having 
something to entertain the crowd and break the monotony of 
their insular lives—killing and sacrificing. 

If an old native was accused of breaking an auto speed 
taboo, or spitting on the street-car floor, or talking to a police¬ 
man, or eating poi with a knife or spoon, or with his neigh- 





92 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


bor’s wife, he was made the goat for sacrifice. Often the vic¬ 
tim was a prisoner of war. Woman was exempt, for every 
one knew her whole life was a sacrifice—there w r as nothing 
new about that. The head-hunter man, the victim-procurer, 
who brought home the bacon, was called a “mu.” He was a 
clubman. It was his pleasant duty to sneak up behind a man, 
crack him over the head with a club, drag him to the temple, 
introduce him to the idol, lay him face down and leave him 
to rot in the hot sun. Idols have endured to this day, yet 
think what they endured then. It was no idle pastime. The 
odor smelled to heaven. During the meat-hunt of the mu man 
the populace hurried to the hills and stayed under cover. 

Before they went out to war, to kill their brother man and 
to obtain the favor of victory from the gods, they consecrated 
a temple. This custom is not limited to Hawaii. In the spring 
time their thoughts lightly turned to hate, not love. A religious 
parade prefaced the preliminary rites of purification. This 
was before the days of the Ringling Brothers and served them 
for a circus. A first-class sort of a clown impersonated the 
god. He wore a big human-hair wig headdress, a skirt girth 
of white tapa, and his fists were full of spears. For fear he 
might be lonesome, or tired, or quit his job, he was accom¬ 
panied by a priest who carried a calabash pot of red paint 
to give things a cheerful carmine color. Many of his descend¬ 
ants even unto this day and night paint the town red. A 
number went before and after him carrying white flags to 
show there was no present danger, and that the train of spec¬ 
tators might pass on without fear of collision or violent death. 
The procession marched till it came to a rock pile marking 
a boundary between one man’s land and another. A rude, 
carved pig image was set up on this stone pile. The priest 
then smeared the hog with the pigment of red ochre and 
prayed. While his eyes were closed, the kids doubtless laughed 
at the pig-painter. After the “Amen,” the occupants of the 
land, who had received this forced visit, knew there was but 
one way to pay for the holy show, to dig up, and they contrib¬ 
uted feathers, tapas, and real pigs for the red-painted one. 

These profits of religion then went on repeating, the same 
grab game. Just before the full moon the people were invited 
to the temple. The priest took a sacred fern, dipped it into a 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


93 


holy water solution of salt water and moss, and sprinkled and 
soused them. The next thing in the show was to carry down 
the big idol from the forest. Headed by king and priest, the 
crowd came with idols and various offerings, leading a human 
victim to a tree and axe, which had been duly prepared for 
business the previous day. Silence reigned, only broken by 
the priest’s “aha/” followed by the king’s “amama.” This 
was succeeded by a grunt from a hog that had received a blow 
knocking him motionless and dead. If no song of bird, chirp 
of cricket, low or beast, or word of man had been heard 
so far, it was a good omen and the main part of the ceremony 
was then read. The poor fellow who had been kidnapped, an 
unwilling spectator to these preliminaries, now was brought 
into the spotlight. The king generously offered him up to the 
god and what was left of him was buried at the foot of the 
tree. Then the hog that had been duly consecrated was baked 
in his own lard on the spot, the tree was cut down, branches 
were trimmed off and carried away. With this as an appe¬ 
tizer, the crowds had a great feast, then formed a line with 
a feather-duster god in front of them, the chiefs and others fol¬ 
lowing with ferns and branches. The favored few carried the 
new idol and everybody let loose in a pandemonium of yells. 
The poor inhabitants of the village, who had spread this table 
of delight, were not permitted so much as a crumb. For them 
to meet this sacred circus was death, so they remained in¬ 
doors, their fires were put out or not lighted at all. Finally 
the images were taken to the temple and left with a great 
beating of drums and shouts, doubtless glad they were deaf 
and could not hear the heathen powwow. A whole week en¬ 
sued followed by much more monkey mummery. 

Then a skull was filled with holy water, a naked man per¬ 
sonified some god or deified beast, and there were more pray¬ 
ers and marchings. When night came, the idol was brought 
near the altar where a hole had been dug for its pedestal. 
It seems it was time to set ’em up, but not yet, something was 
lacking, and that was another victim, and they had him on 
hand. He was killed, planted in the hole, and covered with 
plenty of dirt. Then the image was placed in position over 
him, the “aha” was recited, and it was “ha-ha”’ for him. 


94 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


What would the reader and writer have paid for a front 
seat or good standing room at this performance? Yet this 
was only a starter to the main spectacle of the “great aha,” 
when the interested spectator yelled, “Lele nale ka aha e.” 
The curtain was rung down and the kuili and the church sac¬ 
rifice was celebrated. The priests were good cooks, appreci¬ 
ated good cooking, and they and the people made hogs of 
themselves on a great number of hogs. Lucky for them pork 
was not king and bringing present bacon and ham prices. 
The hog was a favorite sacrifice with these Hog Islanders— 
nowadays, money hogs rule the land and sacrifice the natives. 

It was now time for the idol images to get busy. They 
were dressed in white tapa, called names, and received a 
large layout of red fish, hogs, bananas and cocoanuts all spiced 
up, flavored and made tasty by the sacrifice of more human 
victims. Talk of fisherman’s luck! If one of these Izaak Wal¬ 
tons failed to hook a ulua fish that night, he went ashore to 
the village, crept up and killed a man as a substitute for the 
fish, put a hook into his mouth, and dragged his dead body to 
the temple. Other impressive, oppressive and depressive cere¬ 
monies followed. Better the day, better the deed, and there 
was no day like an initiatory one, or a deed baptized in blood. 
There was a temple at the foot of Diamond Head, where, in 
1807, four men were killed to restore the queen to health. 
For fear the king might be lonesome when he died, they killed 
someone to accompany him. Thus we trace the path of prog¬ 
ress by bloody footprints. If any new thing was to be done, 
human blood made it easy. Just add some hog fat, and you 
had a combination hard to beat. 

Our idea of the gods is that they were rich, had a well- 
filled larder, and could lend money or give countless sand¬ 
wiches to the poor, yet of old it seems otherwise. Their hands 
were always stretched down to earth for gifts of grain, fruit, 
wine, oil, and flesh of man and animal. 

To get back into the good graces of the gods and be for¬ 
given, it was necessary that man should give up what he 
most valued in sacrifice, so there were gifts of honor prompted 
by love or of sacrifice wrung out by fear. Homer shows how 
gifts were eloquent persuaders to gods and kings. Among the 
Romans religion appeared to be a bargain with the gods. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


95 


With the early Hebrews there was the idea that none should 
appear empty-handed before Jehovah, and the word “sacri¬ 
fice” in the New Testament is spelled in red letters. 

To sacrifice is not to give up what you don’t want, be¬ 
cause it is old, cheap and worthless, but to hand over what 
is valuable and entails loss. Cain and Abel offered their best 
as if God were a personal human friend. The Christmas spirit 
prompts us to do the same, for love and sacrifice are synonym¬ 
ous. Fear of punishment or of ill will may lead to gifts and 
sacrifice to appease the anger of what is above us and capable 
of showing us hurt. 

Sacrifices have been made of food in India to sacred cows 
and bulls, and of living victims to crocodiles in Egypt. Human 
beings have been deified and received sacrificial offerings 
among the Marquesan Islanders. The old Greeks had a big 
barbecue. Knowing the gluttonous capacity of the gods in 
Olympus, they offered a hecatomb, a thousand oxen at a time. 
The ancient rain-god in Mexico required blood in his prohibi¬ 
tion drink, and many children were sacrificed to him. Both 
men and children were offered to the corn-god Maize, and 
millions of all sexes have been sacrificed on the altar of corn 
whiskey. As late as the nineteenth century a king on the 
gold coast of Africa killed 200 girls and mixed their blood 
in mortar for cementing his new palace. Walter Scott tells 
how the Piets bathed the foundation stones of their castles in 
human blood to propitiate the spirit of the soil. It was a kind 
of “Excuse me, sir, for disturbing you,” and “Permit me to 
pay you for the trouble.” 

All nations always and everywhere have offered some sac¬ 
rifice of blood, goods or possession to secure protection or to 
propitiate the anger of some deity of worship. Who is he and 
what does he want ,is the question. So we read of Hindu im¬ 
molation, Burman cruelties, African fetichism, and savage 
cannibalism. Moloch will take his children roasted before 
eating; some gods are austere, and you must bow with your 
nose and mouth in dust before them; others will take an altar 
baptized with animal and human blood. Some fastidious 
queen in heaven has a sweet tooth and offerings of cakes are 
acceptable. All this has the “heathen” label. We Christians 
give God “lent” sacrifices, and then take them back again like 


96 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Indian givers, our sacrifices of asceticism, formal ritualistic 
service and self-denial. 

History records the personal sacrifice of Leonidas and his 
300 for their country; of the king of the Locrians who gave 
one of his eyes that his obedient son might not lose both; of 
Xerxes ’ followers who leaped into the sea rather than have 
their weight sink the boat; of Codrus, king of Athens, who 
told his enemies they woud gain a victory over him were his 
life spared, and willingly gave himself up to death. 

This wide prevalence of sacrifice raises the question 
whether God gave the idea of doctrine of sacrifice directly 
to Adam who transmitted it, or, is it universal instinct in 
every human heart? 

According to Herodotus, the Issedones honored their par¬ 
ents by eating their dead bodies. In the Roman Empire there 
were shrines of human sacrifice as late as the time of Hadrian. 
Piacular or expiatory sacrifice is seen in the Semitic sacrifice 
of the children by their fathers to Moloch, of Euripides’ Iphi- 
genia among the Greeks, and the offering of boys to the god¬ 
dess of Mania at Rome. Theophrastus tells of the Carthaginians 
who sprinkled their altars with a tribesman’s blood. "We find 
blood sacrifice prominent in every religion that possesses a 
strong sense of sin, and it is the fundamental idea in Judaism 
and Christianity. 

I have visited Calvary, the scene of infinte sacrifice; Kali, 
at Calcutta; Moriah at Jerusalem; the heiaus in Haw r aii; the 
sacrificial stones in Fiji; and the war god in Mexico. 

There are many sacrifices of more recent date: 

Society in Europe to Mars : Health for Pleasure: 

Pastor to people: Frugality for Dishonesty: 

Love for Hate: 

Others for self: 

Mentality for Idiocy: 

Eternity for Time: 

Peace for War: 

Religion for Conscience: 

God for Mammon: 

Christ for Coin: 

Literature to Journalism: 

Art to Commercialism: 


Parents to children: 

Labor to capital: 

Principle to party: 

Life to liberty: 

Nations to wicked rulers: 
Truth to bigotry and perse¬ 
cution : 

Virtue to Vice: 

Society to Fashion: 

People to Politicians; 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


97 


Brains for Beauty: Character for Reputation: 

Substance for show: Future for the Present: 

Happiness for vanity: Music for Jazz: 

Spirit for Sensuality: Effort for Ease : 

Drama for Movies: 

Civilization’s tree is ever watered by the tears, sweat and 
blood of prophets, patriots, parents and philanthropists. Duty 
and death are synonymous. To be blackguarded by men is 
often to be blessed by God. 

Leaving Mookini with its heathen sacrifice, we started 
back, passing old Hawaiian men who had come down to the 
rocks to fish, and some women with hair as white as the 
clothes they were washing. These nativces, a few tourists 
and some sharks that cruise around here, are about the only 
visitors. Robinson Crusoe was on Broadway compared to this 
place. One visit is sufficient. We are not sorry to leave Moo¬ 
kini to its history, mystery, glistery and blistery. Don’t come 
out here unless you take your imagination with you, and a 
cold bottle. 


A COWPUNCHER’S PARADISE 

OTO was our Jap chauffeur guide over the infernal 
roads to Waimea and beyond. He was fat, neatly 
dressed, wore a cigaret over his ear, and had 
a wonderful English vocabulary of “Yes,” “No.” 
We thought his speech was limited to these words, until we 
struck a bad piece of road when he proved himself to be a 
postgraduate in the department of English and American pro¬ 
fanity. Our Buick of early vintage buzzed along at the dizzy, 
dangerous rate of 4 miles an hour—good time for bad roads. 
Like a tank it crawled up and down hills. As we went up the 
mountain side the thermometer went down, the wind blew 
cold, and groups of bald-faced cattle stood still eyeing us as 
novelties. We passed through some cattle gates erected a 
year before to prevent the Germans from coming through 
with cattle germs. A mule and an old gray horse were our 
pacemakers, refusing to turn out of the road, and for miles 
ran ahead of us kicking up the dust. Now and then a Ha¬ 
waiian cowboy centaur shot by with lasso in lieu of bow and 





98 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


arrow. They didn’t wear red shirts but had red blood, and 
in cowboy contests between cowpunchers in North and South 
America, took the prizes. 

One weird, wild wood was passed where the tree limbs 
were twisted as with rheumatism. They were fantastic-look¬ 
ing 1 , like those souls that had committed suicide, and were 
turned into rough and knotted thorns filled with venom, that 
Dante and Virgil saw in the seventh circle of hell, and on 
which the black harpies roosted. We took our time to digest 
the scenery, and at last dropped down safely into the Waimea 
valley at the foot of Mauna Kea, 13,825 feet above the sea, 
whose white snow wig was on crooked. This is the cow- 
punchers’ paradise. Here they meet to round up and brand 
cattle and raise splendid stock, equal to any of the stables in 
the States or in England. There is a dance hall where the 
boys remove their stirrups and shake their heels Saturday 
nights. 

Mr. Carter, of the Parker Ranch, invited us into his house 
and showed his rose garden. Roses bloom on the cheeks of 
the people as well as on the ground, and it was here that 
old King Kam. picked the flower of his army. The garden 
was a fireworks of flowers. There was a large stone where 
the Hawaiians used to come and place leis of flowers when 
they wanted rain. Carter wants rain now all the time and 
so he grew a vine over it as a perpetual offering. Waimea 
had giants of old and was famous for the tall stature of its 
men, but is now best known for the breed of horses and cattle. 
The sun set big in a blue sky, was misshapen, appearing as 
if the god of day had a goitre. The mountain slopes to the 
sea are covered with overturned stone walls proving a once 
dense population. 

Repose may be the guardian spirit of this valley at night, 
but not of the Chinese hotel beds which made the gridiron 
beds of the martyrs of the Middle Ages beds of roses in com¬ 
parison. In days of old when knights were very bold and 
bad, this hotel was the half-way roadhouse to hell. I talked 
with one of the old timers whose stories and jests were a high- 
class vaudeville. 

Waimea is a desirable place for invalids, and lest we might 
be in this class, in another day and night with its bed and 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


99 


meals, we departed. The mist was falling and if it had fol¬ 
lowed us, and turned into rain, the dusty roads would have 
become Sloughs of Despond from which we should never have 
emerged. 

The road was fair for a few miles and then came a stretch 
beyond your imagination. We were entombed under five 
layers of dust and were transformed from the white race 
into the Papuan. There was a gentle zephyr that helped the 
fiery falling dust to bury us alive. For awhile we feared the 
volcano Hualailai had let loose, and readily imagined how 
the Pompeiians felt who fled Vesuvius. ’Tis said the gods 
traveled in a cloud—all five of us resembled second-hand 
deities in our cloud of dust. It became so deep our car was 
stopped and we got out and waded while Goto did his best 
to keep his Buick ship of the desert from capsizing in this 
sea of sand. The convicts were building a new road near 
here at 11 cents a day pay. Many of them were lifers, which 
may account for their slow haste to complete the road within 
this century. The wind and dust way of the transgressor is 
very hard. 


A LAVA LANDSCAPE 

HE volcanic cones in the valley resembled gigantic 
chocolate cakes. The lava flow from Mauna Loa 
was very thoughtless and ran over, ruining roads and 
villages in 1859. The region of lava formation looked 
as if we were traveling in another planet. The moraine 
seemed like coffee grounds and chunks of broken chocolate. 
There was another flow of 1801 with deep caverns and grot¬ 
toes of grotesque formations like mouths of dragons with 
stalactites for teeth. One expected a fiend or ogre to issue 
from these cavern entrances to the lower regions. The lava 
resembled bursted bubbles and overrun pie-juice or terra cotta 
rivers of molasses flowing towards the sea. There were tubes 
and tunnels to spike your head should you care to explore. 
It was a district to hurry through and say, “Isn’t it cute, nice 
and pretty?” 





100 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


The mountain made a bad break in 1801, damming and 
damaging everything around. At that time the natives gave 
Pele a luau of roast pig. Hundreds of hogs were thrown 
into the fiery flow. It was as terrible to be a pig in Hawaii 
as to be a Jew in Europe in the Middle Ages. Everything 
failing, King Kam. came to the rescue, became his own bar¬ 
ber, cut off an Apollo lock of hair from his sacred head, 
stood before the coming stream of lurid lava, and threw the 
hair into it. Whether it was its coarseness that acted as a 
barrier, or the smell of its singeing that choked the fiery 
goddess, the stream of fire stopped at once then and there, 
according to the truthful James chronicler of the time. This 
was a hairbreadth escape. Had he been bald all would have 
been burned alive and no one spared to tell the tale. 

From the wild mineral we entered the vegetable king¬ 
dom and forests of prickly pear and cactus. It has not been 
Burbanked, and the cows eat it, using the spines as tooth¬ 
picks. 


DROWSY KAILUA 

ATURE’S scenic spread was bounteous. From choc¬ 
olate lava flow we came to Kona, the coffee-pot of 
the island, for rotten, decomposed lava makes the 
richest and most productive soil. Our journey ran 
through plantation villages of Hawaiians, Japs, Koreans and 
Filipinos. It grew warmer and we thirsty. The sides of the 
road were lined with wild guava bushes. One had but to 
reach out his hand and pick them on the run, big yellow ones. 
It’s a shame they should go to waste when you know the 
jelly? j am an d paste they make. Emerald green were sea and 
field. Kona grows coffee, tobacco and pineapples—lazy lux¬ 
urious products to drink, to smoke and eat. 

Kailua town was a resting place where we found two men 
working at the wharf warehouse. What a dreamy, sleepy, 
seashore city this is! If ever you wish to doze like ’Brahma 
ten thousand years in a golden egg, come and 4 ‘lay” here. 
You may feed on love and scenery—what better fare? Eat, 
love and sleep is the native’s life duty. It seems man 
was made to look at scenery and pretty girls, and eat fruit 







HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


101 


and ices instead of thinking and reading. The town is 
too dead for even a ghost. The patron saint appears to 
be Hippocrates, the god of Silence. The natives are not 
bothered with yesterday and still less with tomorrow. The 
only sign of life was grass, but since we were hungry and not 
fond of Nebuchadnezzar salads, we strolled up the straggling 
street by the wharf to an al fresco restaurant where we met 
a Kanaka woman. It was the Chinese husband and not the 
wife who prepared the meal for us. Here the Hawaiian 
woman wears the pants. She dislikes to work and so marries 
a Chink who takes care of the children, gets the meals, and 
does the light housework of washing, ironing and so forth. 
Under the trees we ate the best meal on the island, never be¬ 
lieving, from what we had previously received, there was so 
much good food on the island. I have seen Murillo’s pic¬ 
ture of angels cooking in a kitchen, but they never got up 
such a heavenly meal as this. Cocoanut pie, from the fresh 
cocoanut of overhead trees, and ice cream made from cocoa- 
nut milk made a good finish. Cocoanuts here are food and 
drink. For five cents you may buy one to eat, drink and 
wash your face in. 

It was at Kailua that the taboo was broken before the 
missionaries came, and the Hawaiian heavens put to let, for 
the heathen gods were rejected and Christianity accepted. The 
missionaries landed in 1820 on a big rock that is now under 
the present modern stone wharf. Here they secured their 
first foothold on the islands. 

TABUS 

ABU, taboo, or kapu, is a prohibition or interdict pro¬ 
scribing something set aside as consecrated or ac¬ 
cursed. It is supposed to be of Polynesian origin, but 
really is as old as the race, going back to Eden where 
the fruit was taboo. The idea of tabu was formulated by the 
priesthood. The Greeks recognized it in their Eleusinian 
mysteries when the pomegranate was tabu, and at the festival 
of the threshing-floor, when apples, pomegranates, eggs, do¬ 
mestic fowls, red mullet, black tail, crayfish and shark were 
tabu. It was recognized by the Mosaic law when laid by the 






102 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


priest on a man suspected of leprosy, or upon a woman at 
childbirth. It was the trump card of kings who played it to 
make the people believe they were supernatural beings. 

The Hawaiian word tabu meant “sacred,” and was ap¬ 
plied to the person and position of the chiefs. These old 
barbaric savages were Sir Oracles, stood on pedestals above 
the common people, and were up so high as to be in touch with 
the gods from whom they were supposed to be descended. 
Their genealogical tree climbed up so far that it touched the 
sky. The chief worked both the political and religious racket 
—rainbows were rockers of his cradle, his lullaby was thun¬ 
der, and lightning was his baby smile. Instead of going 
down to death when he died he rose to deity. The natives 
fell for him in life and death. In life the holy buncoes were 
tabu by day and hid for fear their virtues might fade. By 
day Kanakas fell on their faces and were as doormats. Death 
was the penalty for the slightest breach of kingly etiquette 
—one mistake and the man lost his job and head. 

Nowadays, royal loyal subjects rise at the name of the 
king or at the singing of the national air. Anciently, when 
the chief’s name was called, the subject ducked. If a stew¬ 
ard passed, taking a royal cocoanut cocktail to the king or 
calabash entrees of fish and pork, or some glad Easter rags 
from his royal haberdasher or best tailor, it was death for 
a common man to stand. No royal hand-me-downs or visits 
to second-hand clothes stores were possible, for no one was 
permitted to wear the chief’s old clothes, even though dirty, 
for his shadow was sacred and not to be crossed. The chief 
was very exclusive, and without a present, no one could enter 
the gate of his yard or the door of his grass hut. Granted an 
audience, you were compelled to crawl in like a snake on 
your belly and go out in the same way. The divinity of a 
chief’s coko was especially hedged. To touch his sacred skull 
was treason, to elevate yours above it was to lose it. One was 
not allowed to be on the same deck with the chief, when he 
was in the cabin you were in the steerage. 

The chief had it pretty soft in his court. The Royal 
Chamberlain of the Fly-brush whisked the buzzers from "his 
nose; His Excellency, the Commander-in-Chief of the Spit¬ 
toon, kept it shiny and ready for a moment’s use; the Imperial 



KAHUNA WIZARD, HILO, HAWAII 









NATIVE NYMPH 
















HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


103 


Minister of tonsorial and osteopathic art was always handy. 
The chief had no time to be lonely or to do much himself. 
For serious affairs of state he had heralds, runners, treasurers 
and stewards. For his own private pleasure and profit, to 
lighten his arduous duties, there were sad-faced diviners and 
priests, fool bards and story-tellers. Silence was broken by 
drummers, sadness by buffoons, and hula dancers who were 
able to throw their left hip over their right shoulder. 

To violate a tabu was to pull the plug from the cask of 
the gods’ vinegary vengeance. The chief, kingly, temple, 
or idol tabus, were permanent, others were special or tem¬ 
porary. As usual woman was treated with the greatest in¬ 
justice by her lord and master who narrowed the circle of 
her privilege until she could scarcely breathe without his 
consent. Hers w r as humble pie. Her food was cooked in a 
separate oven from the men’s. For fear she might poison 
them? No! It was skiddoo and tabu for her when it came 
to eating with the men. There was no loaf of bread, jug of 
wine and “thou beside me in the wilderness,” for her. It 
was death in the pot if woman ate with man. 

An early historian says the wife was barred from the hus¬ 
band’s table because he was having a swell layout with some 
other dames, and her wifely presence would interfere. The 
tabu was a slave-driver’s whip and reduced the people to 
worse than Uncle Tom proportions. Mathematically speak¬ 
ing, they were just vulgar fractions. By it the chief tabood- 
lers encouraged every wicked whim and carnal caprice. It 
was tabu with death penalty for her to enter her home chapel 
with its family idols or penates. Poor thing, treated as though 
she had no soul! Her forbidden fruits were cocoanuts and 
bananas. Possibly because the natives had theories of the 
original sin and didn’t want her to slip and fall. Pain of death 
was further threatened if women ate pork, turtles and cer¬ 
tain kinds of fish. It was not because they might be poorly 
cooked, but on account of the tabu. A kind tutor once al¬ 
lowed two of his highbred girl scholars to eat a banana—he 
was drowned. And an innocent little girl had one of her eyes 
cruelly gouged out for the same heinous crime of taking a 
mouthful of banana. A tipsy woman was killed for entering 


104 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


her husband’s eating house, not that she was groggy, but that 
she dared appear at all. 

The tabu was worked overtime. Extras told how not to 
do it. Warning signals were hoisted at unexpected times and 
for no apparent good reason. It was a crime punishable by 
death to take a canoe joy-ride, light up the kitchen gas-range, 
to pound poi, to fill your stomach, to allow your dog to bark 
or your rooster to crow during certain tabus. During the 
most important prayers in the temple absolute silence was 
necessary. For the three hours the priest prayed lest the 
charm be broken. Congregations were forced to hold up their 
arms half an hour at a time—to creak your arm joints, sneeze 
or snore was tabu. 

Each month was divided into four tabu periods according 
to the four periods of the moon. During this luny time women 
were not allowed to enter canoes or see a man. Was it to 
prevent foolish flirtation with serious consequences? What a 
terrible tabu and law for youth who worship at the shrine of 
Venus at Venice or Minneapolis. Hoover had his prototype 
in Hawaii. Two kinds of fish were tabooed on pain of death 
every six months by the official priest. Food administration 
was very drastic. 

After these pious pagans dedicated with unholy rites one 
of their heathen temples, they had a four-day festival when 
it was tabu to blow a conch shell, go on a toot, beat a drum, 
pound tapa, fish or bathe. 

When the high chief died he was so rotten that the whole 
district was regarded as polluted for ten days, and his heir 
descendants had to hike to another district and remain there 
during this tabu time. 

At last the biter was bitten, the tabu was tabued—the pro¬ 
hibition was whisked away by whiskey, and thusly it hap¬ 
pened. Liholiho was the too lively son of Kamehameha I. He was 
on a spree most of the time and on his tomb might have ap¬ 
propriately been carved the inscription, ‘‘Hie” Jacet. He want¬ 
ed no tabu in his life and acted the part of Absalom and Don 
Juan combined. The Queen Dowager desired a little side 
liberty herself, so she sent for Liholiho to come to Kailua and 
leave his idols and idle ways. He started out in canoes with 
hi« royal fellows well met, forgot good advice and tabus and 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


105 


became drunk. He arrived at Kailua where a big feast had 
been prepared. There was plenty of poi and pig. Instead of 
hogging the whole thing by driving the common men and 
women away, he sat down with them with grunts of satis¬ 
faction, helped himself and asked the boys and girls to make 
themselves at home. What a profanation to sit down and eat 
with women! The natives were struck with wonder that he 
wasn’t struck with lightning or apoplexy. It dawned on their 
mind that tabus were N. G.—nefarious graft, that man made 
them and man could break them. Like Macbeth’s feast, it 
broke up in most admired disorder. The gang was all there 
and full of cheer and cried, “To Helleakala with the tabus, 
the gods are fakers,” and after holding hands and dancing 
round the ground they celebrated. With the tottering tumbling 
tabus fell the whole Humpty Dumpty structure of heathen idol 
worship. The high priest’s occupation, like Othello’s, was gone 
—he himself fired the idols out of the temple and burned them 
and the temples. He sent messengers with flaming tongue to 
invite men and women to eat, drink and be merry together at 
the debacle of deities. Revelry and ribaldry reigned. 

Like Demetrius, the silversmith, who made silver shrines 
for Diana and was furious at Christianity for interfering with 
his idol-making, Hawaiian priests were fierce and furious. They 
raised a revolt with varying fortunes of success and failure 
and frightened some of the natives to rebel, heading them with 
an upstart offshoot of royalty. It was useless, the idolatrous 
priests were put to flight and the roistering royalists rejoiced. 
It was out with the old and in with the new, and here on 
December 20, 1819, at the battle of Kuamoo, Hawaii gave up 
her religion and was like a ship without a rudder—all ignor¬ 
ant of the Gospel ship that was coming. 

Liholiho banished tabus but did not end them. They are 
in full force today. In Hawaii it is— 

Tabu to think, talk, write, print or preach, if at any time 
or anywhere one opposes the sacred Six who own and run 
the islands: 

Tabu to discuss labor wages, form Unions or strike: 

Tabu to sell radical magazines and papers as in U. S.: 

Tabu to mention lepers in polite society: 

Tabu to criticize the islands, railroads and boats: 


106 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Tabu to call the natives Kanakas or colored: 

Tabu to say anything good about the Japs, the islands’ best 
workers: 

Tabu to preach the Ten Commandments with personal ap¬ 
plication to rich members present: 

Tabu to be seen in society mingling with poor Hawaiians: 

Tabu to dance the Hula: 

Tabu to sing and play ukeleles at the beach after dark: 

Tabu to give the women the promised right to vote: 

Tabu to offer money for Hawaiian hospitality: 

Tabu to refer to miscegenation: 

Tabu to question the methods of the early missionaries: 

Tabu to drink, gamble or commit adultery—openly: 

Tabu to praise any other town or island of the Group while 
you are in Honolulu. 

Tabu to tell the Promotion Committee that its advertise^ 
tourist routes and rates are misleading and extortionary: 

Tabu for white people to do manual work: 

Tabu to say that the best climate, scenery and people in 
the world are not in the Hawaiian Group: 

Tabu to say anything or aught against the plutocrat sugar 
and pineapple men who exploit labor, determine business, 
limit education, corrupt politics, dictate editorials and at¬ 
tempt to tell the pulpit what to say, and the Y. M. C. A. what 
to do. Death is not the penalty for breaking these tabus but 
it is financial, social, religious, political boycott and punish¬ 
ment. 


LANDMARKS 

ACK of the Kailua warehouse are the ruins of a house 
where Kam. lived and died. These drowsy old kings 
were much opposed to being disturbed in their eternal 
sleep, or having their bones used for fish hooks. ’Tis 
said just before death Kam. arranged to have his bones con¬ 
cealed in a cave under the water. When he died and was 
buried every fisherman along the coast was killed who saw 
the burial. Even then another body was substituted for his, 
and the original was carried God knows where. 

The rocks around this beach are associated with stories of 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


107 


some king’s life or death. The legends are as thick as limpets 
on the rocks along the coast. 

We passed through an arched gate to see a famous stone 
church, a heathen temple having been torn down to make 
place for this Christian one. The bird of paradise was a 
rooster who lit on the church spire. He has the finest look¬ 
out and looks as if he knew it was and was crowing over it. 

On a point of land there is a large something called a fort. 
It was a place of defense for the common people and long, 
high and thick enough to protect them from the nobles. There 
were many outrigger canoes on the beach covered with mats 
like logs washed up on the shore. 

The old royal palace is a place of roystering reminiscence. 
It is two stories high and fast falling into ruins. The line of 
kings was ended but there was a clothes-line strung between 
the cocoanut trees with garments fluttering in the wind a la 
Naples. There were balconies, lanais, and a pretty palm gar¬ 
den washed by the sea. The Chinese caretaker was wrinkled 
as a lava flow. He took little care of his personal appear¬ 
ance but brightened up at the sight of some money. We en¬ 
tered by a back way where Kalakaua, a Caligula for orgies, 
sneaked in with his white lady friends. What a time then— 
what cobwebs, dust and fallen plaster now! The royal ret¬ 
inue has been succeeded by rats and spiders who revel night 
and day. In the garden there is a bathing pool enclosed by a 
stone wall where the only bather is a fish. The pool was called 
Kiope after a woman who was turned into a stone by Pele 
for playing the Peeping Tom act. 

CAVE OF REFUGE 

ANIAKEA Cave is the great place of Refuge here, and 
with four half-clad Kanaka kids as guides, we started 
out to visit it, climbed over a wire fence, tumbled 
over stones, rubbed against trees, scrambled through 
a bramble forest and tripped over vines. The barefoot boys 
carried boards which they laid down to walk on. We crawled 
on hands and knees through vines and thorns that tore our 
clothes to shreds. This wasn’t as bad as the surrounding 
bramble ready to stick us. It was no place for poetry, except 







108 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


thoughts of Milton’s Hell, and that Mother Goose classic, “He 
jumped into a bramble bush.” 

The trail led to the ruins of an old mission in the midst 
of algaroba trees and cactus thickets. The old walls were 
standing and the chimney fireplace was falling. The mission 
furniture was the wild wood; the roof the sky; the choir, 
birds; the flowers, weeds; the collection, debris; and Time’s 
text. “Vanity of vanities.” 

Lucky L and I were bald or we might have suffered Ab- 
salom’s fate hanging by our hair in a tree. The women of 
our party, with disarranged dress and dishevelled hair might 
have been mistaken for the madwoman in Jane Eyre. Pieces 
of our party were left dangling to thorn and spine cactus like 
bits of beef hung on barb wire fences in South America. From 
our trips it was anything but a pleasure trip. 

The Lanikea Cave entrance looks like the opening for a 
sewer. We fell into it with our flashlights and walked a few 
feet into the passage which is high in places. I wasn’t stuck on 
it, though they told me an ancient chieftess was who tried to 
get through and stuck by the hips. The fugitives who lived 
here for a refuge, had a pool of clear water to drink. They 
could swim to an inner cave through which they could come 
out by the sea. The sea along the shore seems to be friendly 
to smugglers and bandits, for it has hollowed out many hiding 
places. Our refuge was not there but outside the cave. To 
remain was to make it a Cave of Adullam and feel like David, 
distressed and discontented. If the thorns grew then as they 
do now it was indeed a safe place. No firearms, but the dag¬ 
ger and bayonet points of the cactus, were enough to keep the 
enemy at bay and away. 

The Bishop estate, planters, or some other pious or impious 
owners of the place, should be compelled to make the Peni- 
tentes pilgrimage we did. A few dollars and hours work could 
clean the path up. But what do these poor millionaires care 
for old missions and Hawaiians from whom they have received 
all they now own! How sharper than a serpent’s tooth, and 
cactus, and bramble point, it is to have a thankless corporation. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


109 


TALE OP TWO TOWNS 

ROM Kailua to Keauhou there are some 19 heathen 
temples along the beach or buried in the bush, hut we 
were pagan enough without any more visits. They 
were not conducive to worship. To find these buried 
temples would require the eight thousand eyes of spider. 

As we sped along we discovered some of the best things 
on the trip—sky, cloud, sea and surf—not mentioned in the 
handbook which advises you to look at everything you do 
not care to see. 

Tommy White is the big chief of Keauhou. He lives in a 
tropical home on the beach shaded with palms. The sand is 
black like Night’s Plutonian shores, not because the natives 
scrub off their dirt there, but because the volcano left a 
deposit. 

King Kam. III., who lived in the “white” house near shore, 
made it tabu for anyone to take a morning walk on the cliff for 
fear a shadow might fall on the house. One was compelled to 
climb down to the side of the bay and swim over to the other 
side, and swim they could, for it was as natural as breathing. 
They could have taken away the championship from the water 
Gods at Poseidon’s court. There is a different regime now— 
Tommy comes out to welcome you and brings you to his porch 
to rest. He is accurate in his diagnosis of what you want to 
eat and drink and gives it to you. 

Kam. III. was born on a large flat rock by the wharf under 
the monkeypod tree with the ocean as wet nurse. The stone 
has been removed to a small iron rail enclosure back of 
Tommy’s house. A professional guide would point out the 
birthmark on the stone, but this plague has not yet visited the 
island. There is a stone tablet on the rock bearing this in¬ 
scription: “Kauikeaouli, Kamehameha III. Born March 17, 
1814. Kai moi Lokomaikai,” which, for short, means “king 
of the big heart.” He was a poor actor and made a poor show¬ 
ing from the start. At the beginning of his reign he started 
a great revival—of heathen orgies and practices. He had rows 
with the foreign powers, yet all’s well that ends well. Some 
progress was made. He granted the people a liberal constitu¬ 
tion and permitted them to hold laud in fee simple. Accord- 





110 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


ing to modern standards of diplomacy, he was really quite 
a heathen for duplicity and intrigue were foreign to his nature. 

On the hillside, back of Keauhou, is where the old kings 
had a sort of Coney Island resort. There was a stone slide, 
like the path of an avalanche, that began a mile up the moun¬ 
tain slope. It was wide and railed in by stones to keep the 
coaster on the stone track. This rocky shoot the shoots was 
covered with grass to make it smooth like snow, and the 
coaster came down on his narrow sledge as one slides down 
the rocks at Funchal. Arriving at the beach, the coaster 
donned his G string bathing suit, a malo or clout, and took 
a bellybuster on his surf board, was carried far out to sea, 
after which he turned back, mounted a wave and was shot to 
shore in front of his house. Hawaiians, like the Moslems, be¬ 
lieved in bathing, and were not like the people in Central and 
South America who deify dirt. Girl bathers simply wore a 
skirt from waist to knee. What a “moving” picture this 
would have presented, if the picture were uncensored, and 
what a crowd would promenade this cocoanut “palm beach.” 

Kahaluu is a village near Keauhou, containing several 
houses and a few people. It is reached over a lava flow road, 
and is beautifully situated on the beach among palms and 
rocks. I photographed a white horse here which proved it 
was either a one-horse town, or the Revelation of a dead one. 
There is a temple dating back to 1782, and a Place of Refuge, 
now refuse, built by Kam. I. 

On the beach, and washed by the sea, one finds rock-carved 
pictures such as idle boys scrawl on their slates at school. 
There are grave doubts concerning their age and they have 
neither art nor antiquity. One picture represents a Maui 
chief killed here with his pet pig,.par nobile fratrum. Some 
drawings were of alleged men and women with little difference 
to differentiate the sex. Naturally they were together on the 
beach. They were the only ones we saw bathing. At high 
tide they are invisible. Think what we almost missed. There 
were pictures, too, of the lucky swastika and one of vague 
Masonic meaning. Who made them or when is not known. 
One can do as well with a stick in a piece of soft concrete. 

A stone checker-board was noticed by the roadside on 
which kings and queens of checquered career played on black 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


111 


and white stones. In a charming little grove we stumbled up¬ 
on a strangulation stone worse than gall stones, for the patient 
never recovered the operation. It was a rough piece of rock, 
not large but heavy enough to hold the victim down after his 
head had been thrust through the hole cut in the stone. A 
piece of cocoanut cord was tied around his neck and he was 
choked to death. This stone would make a fine flower pot 
pedestal, or a hitching post for my tin horse. 

To travel and not arrive is the best part of a journey—and 
we shot away like a cannon ball in Mr. White’s big car. 
The roads were vertical as if laid out by goats. No surveyor 
ever made a straight line on these roads. The hills were un¬ 
dulating as hula hips. Plantation stores and towns, inhabited 
by Japs and Hawaiians, famous coffee and sugar fields, flashed 
by in rapid succession. There was a wonderful vista of sea, 
mountain and ocean. The only thing that passed us was 
Phoebus’ car which he was just putting in his cloudy garage 
after a hot, hard day’s run. 

KAPIOLANI, HAWAII’S HEROINE 

WAS familiar with high hotels in Paris, and was not 
looking for a high Paris hotel in Kona. The French 
sort is not generally conducted by people known for 
piety, but the house here is, for Miss Paris is a mis¬ 
sionary’s daughter. Her life has been spent among the nat¬ 
ives who believe in and love her for what she has done foi 
them. She is a writer, not of slush and sentimental dishwatei 
love stories, but a translator of Gospel hymns, and every 
Sunday she goes horseback to her father’s church. He came 
here and taught the natives how to improve their heads and 
hands as well as their hearts, to burn and make lime from the 
coral rocks. He instructed them in the schools, and built 
and was pastor of the noted church of Napoopo, locating it 
where it could be seen by the native on land and by sailor on 
sea. Miss Paris’ house is a museum containing spears, cala¬ 
bashes, lava specimens and a hula skirt of hula hair. 

Kapiolani lived here. I saw the koa wood door and the 
front stone steps from which she passed on her great journey. 
She and her eighty followers went on a religious picnic, 




112 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


tramped all the way to Kilauea volcano and put to shame Hon¬ 
olulu’s boasted Trail and Mountain Club. Kapiolani and Mark 
Twain divide honors in being the most talked about tourists 
who ever visited the volcano. She and her followers had no 
handsome Demosthenes to welcome them at the Volcano House. 
She was a true daughter of Eve and loved forbidden fruit, 
and gathered and ate the sacred ohelo berries. With her 
sharp tongue, she talked back to Pele denouncing her as a 
first-class fraud in words that only one woman uses to another. 
Fortunately, her secretary was with her, and took down her 
exact words in shorthand:—“Jehova is my God! He kindled 
these fires! I fear not Pele! If I perish by the anger of Pele, 
then you may fear the power of Pele; but if I trust in Jeho¬ 
vah, and He should save me from the wrath of Pele, when I 
break her tabus, then you must fear and serve the Lord Jeho¬ 
vah. All the gods of Hawaii are vain! Great is Jehovah’s 
goodness in sending teachers to turn us from these vanities 
to the living God and to the way of righteousness.” This 
speech was made in 1825 and copies were given to the Hilo 
Tribune, The Honolulu Bulletin, and The Pacific Commercial 
Advertiser. The long walk from Miss Paris’ to the volcano 
gave Kapiolani ample time to practise this extemporaneous 
speech which has gone through all the ages. She 4s in the 
class of Vashti and Joan of Arc who would all be suffragettes 
were they living today. 

VOICES OF THE NIGHT 

E rose early next day, and lo! the dawn, in a dull 
blue kimono, was getting wet feet walking over the 
dew on the hills above us. 

As early at 4 A. M., if you are awake, you will hear 
the song of the Kona nightingale. As the stars shimmer and 
the faint dawn envelops you, this melody enters your inmost 
soul. It is impossible to sleep ’mid such seraphic music. Urn 
like the other nightingales in Southern Europe, this song is 
different. Coleridge wrote an ode to the nightingale, calling 
it “most musical, most melancholy bird.” What would he 
have written had he listened to this Kona nightingale ? Prob- 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


113 


ably what he did write “To a Young Ass,” for the Kona 
nightingale is a donkey: 

“More musically sweet to me 
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be, 

Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest 
The aching of pale fashion’s vacant breast.” 

These donkey birds run wild over the mountains. You 
may catch them if you can, harness and work them and set 
them free when you are through with them. 

Here I fell in love with a bird that all of the islanders 
hate—the Mina bird. I heard nothing but slander, nobody 
spoke a good word for him. He is called a pest that should 
be exterminated. Were you to ask Mr. Mina bird why he 
ever came here, he might reply, “Why was the white man 
brought here—I am no more of a pest than some of the avar¬ 
icious white men who have exterminated the Hawaiians.” 

THREE MEN IN A CANOE 

T would bankrupt my vocabulary to describe all the 
beauty of the scenery the touring car whirled us 
through from Miss Paris’ to the high-sounding beach 
of Napoopo. We had arranged for a sampan, but 
there was more profit in fish than visitors, so we stood like 
Newton on the shore while our Portuguese chauffeur, Janica, 
roused a native by entering his house and pulling him out of 
bed. He looked out at the bay and said it was too rough for 
an outrigger. Then scanning L. and me, he decided if we 
were drowned now he wouldn’t be bothered wth us later. His 
partner lent him a hand to slide the outrigger canoe down 
the rocky stays. Then they stood for ten minutes watching 
and counting the big waves until the right safe one came and 
carried him out. All this time we waited impatiently, watch¬ 
ing the manoeuverings with our glass from the wharf, and 
longing like Xerxes to spank the bottom of the sea. He took 
his time to come in, still waiting for the right one, for a 
wrong wave would have smashed him against the concrete 
wharf like an egg shell. He was a real Kanaka and so expert 
in his knowledge of the sea as to know even the influence of 




114 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


the fishes’ tails on the undulations of the deep. Finally he 
darted up to the wharf, said “ Hurry, before the next heavy 
sea comes,” and as he held his craft fast, I dropped down into 
the middle and L. into the bow. The outrigger was narrow, 
we weighed nearly 200 pounds apiece, and were so wedged in 
that if the boat capsized we would be a part of it and sink 
with it. He was a reliable Palinurus and skilfully paddled 
us out beyond the wharf and breakers. The Cook monument 
was our pole-star across the colored bay—the “pathway of 
the gods,” Kealakekau, over which the god Lono journeyed 
on business from heaven to earth. The water was clear and 
deep, and the white coral below suggested the bones of dead 
drowned tourists. The cliffs were full of small burial caves 
which the guide said were filled with bones of dead chiefs. As 
soon as we became accustomed to the outrigger and composed 
ourselves, we ventured to look at the living beauty about of 
hills, bay, promontories, white surf, beach, palms, etc. 

THE CRIME OF CAPTAIN COOK 

T last our keel ground the rocks and green moss, we 
leaped out into a bower of foliage where stands the 
white stone marking the final resting place, the har¬ 
bor where the restless tempest and sea-tossed Captain 
Cook found anchor. Near here he fell pierced with an iron 
dagger. This concrete shaft was erected by Great Britain in 
1874, and a fund raised for its up-keep. The sexton had been 
lax, for there were high weeds, cans and other marks of rever¬ 
ence. It is a common looking monument for an unusually 
common man. The entrance is surrounded by cannon posts 
and chains. Palms and native huts form a background and 
the tablet bears an inscription to the great circumnavigator. 

January 17, 1779, Cook sailed into this bay with his two 
ships, named “Resolution” and “Discovery,” both typical of 
his character. On his first visit to the islands three years be¬ 
fore, he left the seeds of melons, pumpkins and onions, and his 
men the seeds of disease, misery and death. His boats wefre 
a sort of Chinese flower boats, floating houses of prostitution 
that cruised from port to port. He returned again after being 
in the cold storage of Alaska dodging the icebergs of the 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


115 


Arctic. Evidently they enjoyed their former pleasant stay. 
The sailors’ first visit made a hit with the natives. Messen¬ 
gers told the kings at Oahu and Maui that these men were 
white, had loose skin, angular heads, and fire and smoke issued 
from their mouths. A very good description of these sea- 
devils. 

The native god Lono had been gone on a business or pleas¬ 
ure trip, and the Kanakas were lonely and looking for him. 
Cook arrived at the psychological moment and was met by 
a welcoming committee of an old priest and two chiefs. They 
kow-towed and salaamed, believing him to be the incarnation 
of their god Lono. They posed him in front of the sacred 
image, togged him out in a suit of red tapa, offered him a 
dead hog, and annointed him with chewed cocoanut kernel 
wrapped cloth. He liked this adulation, and the incense of 
the roast pig filled his nostrils and pride. They took him to 
their temple and with wand in hand the priest waved all to 
fall down to do him reverence. Cook was very ‘ ‘ observing. ” 
He set up his surveying instruments. The priests tabooed them 
and marked the place off with white rods. He was hedged in 
with the divinity of a king. Canoe loads of food were brought 
him daily, which he accepted as a matter of course without so 
much as a thank you. The Maui king and retinue came over 
to make a society call on this English sailor god. He was 
given a religious serenade. They paddled around his ships 
in their fighting outfit dress of helmets, spears, daggers, bear¬ 
ing proudly their jabbowock, wicker-work, giant idol-god who 
was covered over with red feathers, his mouth set with double 
rows of shark teeth, and his wonderful eyes were made of 
mother of pearl. Quite a tableaux. 

The English chief received more divine honors on shore 
The Maui king placed beautiful cloaks at his feet to keep 
them warm, or show his warm affection; moulted himself, 
placed his own feather cloak upon Cook’s shoulders, and 
crowned him with his feather helmet. Then he gave him things 
for his inside comfort, such as cocoanuts, breadfruit and hogs, 
and for measure and will the priest threw in a prayer. Cook 
took it all in and asked no questions. He invited the king 
aboard the “Resolution” to four o’clock tea, and munificently 
returned this kindness by shooting off a few packs of fire- 


116 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


crackers and pinwheels which the simple natives believed were 
flying, red-headed spirits. He staged a boxing and wrestling 
match, and as a token of his gratitude, bestowed on the Maui 
monarch a linen shirt and a cutlass that he might appear well 
dressed in ladies’ society and cut a wide swath. 

Cook’s ten day visit was worse than Ten Nights in a Bar¬ 
room. The natives and sailors were not teetotalers, nor 
women-haters. To describe what went on here would make 
the black ink of the historian’s pen blush red. Dante would 
have to add another circle in hell for them. Without Circe’s 
help, they all turned themselves into pigs. Cook used his 
strength tyranically, cooked his own goose and incensed the 
natives. Desiring fuel, he offered hatchets in exchange for 
the fence around his temple. They were refused and Cook’s men 
grabbed the railings of the temple and the dozen large wooden 
idols within. Th Kanakas became angry. Squabbles and steal¬ 
ings grew numerous and all were glad to say good-bye, Febru¬ 
ary fourth, when the ship pulled out. But the vessel was soon 
afterwards driven back by a storm. Conditions nad cnanged. 
Natives saw feet of clay in their god image. Cook landed and 
went up to the temple hotel he had previously occupied. Two 
days later he made the discovery that some tools had been 
stolen from his boat “Discovery.” The thieves attempted to 
get away with them and were fired on, Cook’s boat pursuing 
them. The natives stopped, turned back and fought, and the 
British sailors barely managed to return to their ship. 

Cook’s next move was to capture the king as a hostage, for 
with him he could do anything with the natives, February 
twelfth he landed with his soldier guard, having blocked the 
harbor with three armed boats to keep away the intruding 
enemy. A canoe blockade-runner attempted to get through 
and a high chief was brought low by an English bullet. That 
sound echoed above the waves to the shore and was heard 
by a mad crowd. A native picked up a brick and cracked 
a Cook officer on the head. He turned and a lead bullet put 
daylight through him. This spilled the broth and Cook was 
in danger. The dead man’s brother came towards Cook who 
was suddenly reminded of his great countryman’s lines, “Is 
this a dagger I see before me!” Before he could strike him, 
Cook shot at him but missed. Fatal mistake. Discretion was 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


117 


in order and he ordered his men to get away in their boats, 
but they used guns, not oars, fired and four natives dropped 
dead. While waving his hat to his men in the boat to cease 
firing, a chief stole up behind Cook, thrust an iron dagger 
through his very human frame and he fell dead, face down, 
into the water. 

On the heights above the bay there was a small temple. 
Here the body of the ex-god was taken, his mortal flesh 
stripped from his mortal bones and buried. His bones were 
hard to dispose of so they were deified, put up in neat pack¬ 
ages, tied with a red feather string, locked somewhere and the 
key thrown away. Cook’s troubled heart had ceased to beat 
but was not permitted to rest very long, for some children 
found it hanging in a hut and made a meal of it. The priest 
took some souvenir speciments of Cook’s body to the ship. 
The head was gone but the body wiggled. The sailors of the 
ship “Discovery” fired grape shot into the little village of 
Napoopo and set fire to it. The king was in hot water and 
sued for peace, gave the crew some of their captain’s bones, 
which were buried with military honors in the deep he loved 
so well. 

One could not blame the Hawaiians for saying with Gar¬ 
rick, “Heaven sends us food but the devil sends us Cooks.” 
He was a great explorer and exploiter. Were he and his crew 
to repeat their cruise and conduct in a harbor today, they 
would land in jail. His room was better than his company 
and his influence a blight and not a blessing. The Hawaiian 
was a savage and heathen, but Cook’s treatment failed to 
make him gentle and Christian. He put them on the map 
for other white slavers to visit with vice, theft and murder 
that has nearly wiped them off the map. Too bad that instead 
of discovering these islands, Cook didn’t run on a reef with 
some devil-fish, study its habits, and tell the world how to catch 
and cook it. 


118 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


ROYAL STIFFS 

E scrambled up a high cliff overlooking this bay and 
monument to a burial cave, entered and made a thor¬ 
ough search, finding — nothing — a something Death 
generally leaves. This was only one of many caves 
here, and in one there is said to be a pile of gold that a pirate 
ship once hid, but I couldn’t find even a copper cent. The 
caves in the cliff resemble the Campo Santos of Latin coun¬ 
tries where the dead are pigeon-holed for future reference. 

During his life the Hawaiian chief always wanted some¬ 
thing a little better and different from anyone else. It grew 
to be a habit. To think death might change his wish, he ar¬ 
ranged to have something unique. When he died his bones 
were tied in a bundle, attached to a rope that was lowered 
until it reached a cave in the side of some cliff. A servant 
was then let down to accompany him, and when he had 
plugged up the hole with the king’s dead body, a relative 
overhead cut the rope and let him dash to death. An appall¬ 
ing way to treat the pall bearer, yet he willingly did all this 
for his king. 



AT END OF ROPE 

FTER nearly swamping the outrigger, we were pad- 
died back and reached the end of the wharf in safety, 
being careful to avoid being smashed or drowned by 
the big combers. Biding our time we darted in. The 
man on the wharf pulled L up and over and he was safe. My 
arms were short, they threw me a rope, but in attempting to 
get out the canoe was pulled out from under my feet by the 
surf, and there I dangled like a big spider on a cobweb. I 
held to the rope like a Shriner until three men pulled me up 
thus spoiling a prediction of my friends that I would die at 
the end of a rope. There is time yet. I am heavy, my arms 
were weak, but I hung on for dear life—hung, clawed and 
kicked against the concrete wall until my buttons came off. 

Denominationally, I am a Baptist and believe in much 
water. This was too much water. Twenty seconds later there 








WORLD’S LARGEST EXTrNCT CRATER, HALEAKALA, 

MAUI 




THE WATERFRONT, LAHAINA, MAUI 









HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


119 


came a wave with a roar, a smash and swat, that would have 
flattened me out like a fly. Having been rescued I felt like 
giving thanks and went over to the temple where Cook was 
worshipped. At the other end of the village we entered an 
enclosure where a chief, after he had been killed in battle, was 
baked as a last indignity. The old oven was not there. Some 
say this baking was an embalming process before the man 
was mummified. 

Happily, a road has been built to Honaunaunau, a great 
City of Refuge. It was formerly necessary to go there via the 
coast by outrigger or sampan. Once it was an important city 
and the home of many of the Hawaiian kings, but all pau 
now—nothing but a half-dozen fisher huts, a few natives, 
some worn and worm-eaten canoes, wind-torn cocoa palm trees 
and somber, rambling ruined ramparts. 

CITY OF REFUGE 

HOSE were the happy days when a hungry native 
could feed fat his ancient grudge, go for his enemy 
who had robbed him of a calabash or a wife, kill him, 
and then run a Marathon to this city with the dead 
man’s friends pursuing him. If he could just come in under 
the line, enter within the city outposts, he was safe, for he 
could turn around, make a face or an oath, scratch the end 
of his nose with his thumb, and tell them to return whence 
they came. The Israelites had such cities, three of them on 
each side of the Jordan as refuge for accidental homicides. 
Times are very dull here now. It would add immensely to 
the tourist pleasure if the ancient customs were revived and 
bleacher seats were erected on either side of the road to watch 
the fleeing criminals come in on the home stretch. Horse 
races are but for a few days in the year, whereas this would 
be a daily performance running fifty-two weeks. The Refuge 
idea might be extended so as to include thieves, slanderers, 
liars, moral outcasts and others—many would be caught this 
way who would never be touched or apprehended in the courts, 
while the criminals who did get in, secured absolution and be¬ 
came immune, would make no greater number than those who 
now evade justice. 







120 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


The fisher guide led us to the temple’s outer wall, built 
of hundreds of immense blocks of stone piled high and se¬ 
cure. The walls are 12 feet high, 15 feet wide at the base, 
and 715 by 404. Where did they get these lava blocks and 
how hoist them, one asks as he does at the pyramids and at 
Cuzco. Easy enough. I saw a coffin-shaped stone over 11 feet 
long and 3 feet square. It weighed several thousand pounds 
and an Hawaiian Hercules chief brought it here one day on his 
shoulder for a settee or divan. The guide said this strong 
chief was 14 or 15 feet tall. If he could do this he could have 
built the city in a summer’s vacation. This hard rock made 
him a soft bed where he could lie and dream of new wars 
to wage, or men to kill, or wives to love. Not far away we 
were shown a rock which was a mashing and mixing slab 
for the brains of anyone who displeased the king for some 
trivial offense. 

Not to be outdone, the queen had a rocky time and an easy 
stone couch on the other side of the wall where she could pose 
like a Karnak sphinx and be admired. It was within easy 
hearing of her jealous lord, and raised up on some small cor¬ 
ner stones. Old King Kam. I. was a free lover. One day he 
stole over here to see a local belle who had wrung his heart. 
His queen wife heard of it and since there were no steamboats, 
she was her own yacht and took a little swim from Kailua to 
Cook’s bay where she rested, and then swam to Hoaunaunau 
with her one companion. It was dark and she hid under this 
rock like a spy under a bed. Next morning she was missed in 
her home, her bed had not been occupied, an alarm was given, 
search made and 500 houses were burned to smoke her out. It 
was useless. She was lost and dead to the world until she and 
her lady companion were discovered by a dog whose curiosity 
led him around and under the stone. Such are the chronicles 
of the Hawaiian royal life. Had she written an Heptameron 
like the Queen of Navarre, it would have furnished hot read¬ 
ing. 

Royalty whiled away the hours here by playing checkers. 
The stone boards were like the one I saw at Keauhou. When 
one chief wished to fight another he sent him a black stone 
wrapped up in a “ti” leaf. If the receiver was willing to fight, 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


121 


he returned the black, and if not, he sent a white one for 
peace. There was no misunderstanding or duplicity. Scraps 
of paper were unknown. No peace league, or covenant, or 
notes—no 14 points, diplomatic lies, messing or red-tape. The 
plan was sure and simple and is commended as a model to 
European nations. 

In this City of Refuge the women and children found safety 
while their men went to battle. In a corner of the refuge en¬ 
closure there was a round stone structure about 6 feet high, 
with flat top 10 feet in diameter. It was the butcher’s block, 
or place of execution where criminals after death had the 
flesh stripped from their bones and burned. The bones were 
hidden in holes of the stone structure. There was a royal bone- 
yard where the chiefs were buried. The wooden building on 
the upper platform is gone—so are the images that stood on 
low pedestals outside the enclosure, or on rocks leaning over 
the water. Under the closely fitting, smooth, block floor of 
lava, were safely placed and planted the bones of big chiefs, 
and of Keawe, who built it in the sixteenth century. Famous 
cloaks and shawls buried with these bones are now found in 
the Honolulu Museum. It does seem strange to walk over 
these stones with American shoes where bare-footed barbarians 
have trod, to pull up a block and look for bones as we did, 
though the guide said they were all gone. Mournful word 
“gone.” The soul of the Hawaiians is gone and ther is noth¬ 
ing left but skeleton cities like this one, half buried in the 
jungle. Soon the grave-diggers of the years will bury all 
and human dust return to lava dust. 

If there is anything gloomier than this black rock refuge, 
it is the thought of the dark minds of the natives where lurk 
the bats of superstition and monsters of credulity and cruelty. 
Silence reigned supreme. Distance placed its fingers of sil¬ 
ence on the waves, there was no breath in the palms, the tick 
of the watch and the beat of the heart were out of place. Our 
guide said fishing was poor. Was it because he was not devout 
as his brothers further south down the beach who now offer 
fruit to insure a good catch 1 


122 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


A NIAGARA OF LAVA 

T was a relief to leave thoughts of heathen human 
nature for nature. Our auto was a fast mountain- 
climber and we rose and rolled along a thousand feet 
above the sea, whirling through forests like a snort¬ 
ing chimera; passed by coffee plantations, abandoned tobacco 
factories, colonies of Jap and Hawaiian workers; by old shacks 
where natives, poor in this world’s goods but rich in content, 
unkempt and unwashed, looked down on sea vistas that would 
make a millionaire’s villa overlooking the Mediterranean very 
cheap. Some of the roads were not paved even with good in¬ 
tention. There was no poetry of motion, simply blank- 

verse. 

Kau is the earthquake section of the island. We missed 
the quakes but had auto shakes. It was pleasant to ride 
through tiny towns not all dead and laid out in mercantile 
monotony. All this while w r e looped the loop of Mouna Loa, 
13,675 feet high, going over the toe of the foot of the moun¬ 
tain. Leaving Kona, we reached Kau with no cow in sight. 
Here we sailed over lava flows, the two of 1907, then of 1887, 
and further down of 1868. We forded the two branches of 
the 1907 flow. One stands here between chaos and creation, 
the beginning and end of the world. Everything seems ac¬ 
cursed, not a tree left., and peopled only by fancies of horror, 
desolation and death. Looking twelve thousand feet up the 
side of mountain, we saw where the lava came down like mo¬ 
lasses out of a busted bung-hole. Eager for its race it ran 
furiously, then farther down it slowed as for breath. In its 
march to the sea it left the appearance of a lava glacier filled 
with deep chasms, piled hills and fantastic forms, recalling 
Young’s “Night Thoughts,” 

“Final Ruin fiercely drives 
Her ploughshare o’er creation.” 

What words can describe this blistering blast, fiery chaos, 
frozen rivers of flame—this running sore on the mountain side 
—this lava flow dripping down like chocolate over a big cake. 
To me it seemed as if Pele had long looked with love at Nep¬ 
tune, ’till at last her heart broke and she sought solace in 
the arms of her sea-god lover, 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


123 


If you are anxious to know what a powerless, pitiful pygmy 
you are, stand here. Then open your Milton and feel, “Hail, 
horrors, hail infernal world!”’ Look up at the volcano, then 
down into the ocean, heaving like a monster in chains as the 
wind scourges it. Here is a trinity of untamed force—vol¬ 
cano, sea and wind, powers sublime never yet suppressed. Yet 
man thinks he is great, wields power when he builds a house, 
writes a play, or is elected mayor or president. Even the 
world, with its oceans and volcanoes, is nothing but a grain 
of star dust in the road of the universe. This is no place for 
ordinary spuls and we were not sorry to move on. To be 
marooned here one should be a Milton, a madman or a fool. 

Now we crossed over the second river flow of 1907 to that 
of 1887 which came from a lower point of the mountain and 
flowed to the sea. Mother Nature is healing and covers her 
fiery child’s scars. Lava is breaking up into a rich soil where 
small bushes and ferns have sprouted and taken root. Some 
day a forest will grow over it, life will supplant death, and 
the once molten lava will furnish food for man and beast. 

To many this dead lava flow is a more stupendous spec¬ 
tacle than Kilauea itself—it is hell dried up. In it you may 
see what the fierce force of Nature can do. No where else on 
land or sea is one so conscious of his smallness. We sped away 
and left this section of the Inferno. Unlike Pharaoh, we passed 
safely through this red sea of lava. This is Kau’s masterpice, 
worth a trip around the world, yet there are natives, resident 
whites and tourists here who have never seen it. 

PICK-UPS 

N the Kau beaches there are burial caves, and a beach 
town where dead bodies and billet doux were found. 
If a love-sick swain up the coast wished to send a 
valentine to his girl, he took a flower wreath, put it 
in a gourd, and it drifted down to this town in Kau. The 
ocean was his postman. To this shore also came dead bodies 
of soldiers killed in battle who had been hurled over the sea 
cliffs. This gave the name “Kamilo” to the village. Deu¬ 
calion threw stones over his shoulder and they were turned 





124 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


into people. Here you find black, smooth stones along the 
shore that are noted for sex, male and female, and it .is be¬ 
lieved that they possess self-propagating power. Superstitious 
Hawaiians say that the small stones separate from Papa and 
Mama stones, grow big and raise pebble families of their own. 

We picked up a big, thick, long-lashed whip in this Satanic 
region which some devil had evidently dropped pursuing 
a lost soul. The chauffeur said it was a cattle whip belonging 
to a cowboy. Cattle come high on this mountain slope, and 
the cattle on these thousand hills, or the thousand cattle on 
the hills, belong to the big ranches. As we were enjoying this 
land of the free air, mountain and sea, a man trudged past 
us who was in irons. He was guarded by an officer on horse¬ 
back, armed with gun and knife, to see that he made no break 
for liberty. 

Our trip was punctuated with exlamations of delight and 
a puncture. One good thing about the bad roads is that the 
auto can’t go so fast that you miss the scenery. 

PATH TO PERDITION 

HE approach to the Fire Goddess’ house is rough, the 
premises are badly neglected. A withered waste, with 
hummocks of lava, weird shapes like hump-backed 
fiends or souls twisted in torture, stretched before us. 
We bravely went on till reaching the Volcano House built 
on the brimstone brink. After a hurried deposit of baggage in 
our rooms, a dust, a wash, and a meal, we ran out and warmed 
our imagination with this volcano fire—a furnace in a black, 
deep cellar where Vulcan is the janitor. The moon, like a 
love-sick Juliet, looked down from her starry balcony in the 
skies. As I gazed down in this fiery pit, lost in wonder, one 
of the party rudely interrupted me by saying, “What a grand 
place for a garbage incinerator.” I wanted to dump him over 
and in it. 

The last time we called on Madame Pele three years ago, 
she wore a beautiful red plume of smoke in her hair. * It wasn’t 
on now, doubtless it was out of style. Speeding by auto for 
seven miles through a fern forest, a literal inferno, the sight 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


125 


of the red crater burst terrifyingly into view. ’Twas like 
Pittsburg at night! 

Although you visit the palace of Pele in an auto, you are 
not expected to wear full dress suits, high heels or patent 
leathers. If you think this volcano is shaped like a Mexican’s 
sombrero, and that it blows off fire so high that the stars seem 
like sparks, scorching the wall-paper on the sky-ceiling, you 
are doomed to disappointment. I have seen State Fair, Fourth 
of July fireworks, and Bengal lights that for v the moment 
played their fire-streams higher and more brilliantly, but this 
is a continuous performance, though not by any means always 
spectacular. 


VOLCANO VAPORINGS 

N a previous visit Madame Pele was very low—500 
feet down, but this night she was in high spirits. The 
lava lake was up to the edge and flowing over. The 
floors in this house of fire are treacherous and cave 
in with you. I was nearly tempted to spend the night in Pele’s 
lava bed because it was so much warmer than those of the 
Volcano Hotel. I sat in the Rest House and watched the lava 
slowly creep towards me, so slowly that I could sit and warm 
my feet by these lava “toes.” Well for me that I did not fall 
asleep, for when I returned next day I found the rest house 
full, occupied by a stream of lava visitors. 

A very studious and scientific set of volcanologists we were. 
With long sticks we made many valuable experiments, such 
as poking the red lava like a furnace fire, seeing how long a 
beer bottle could stand the heat pressure, tossing a copper 
Indian into the flames and watching him writhe and change 
expression with Jhe feelings of an Inquisitor, or fishing out 
red lava from the fissures. There were all sorts of fissures 
save Praed’s, “Red Fisherman.” Angling in this lake of fire 
one should be able to make a good catch of smoked herring. 
Paradoxical as it may seem, your danger is not from burning 
but freezing. It is ironical to call this a summer resort—we 
were wrapped in overcoats, steamer rugs, blankets, gloves and 
then some, but were shivering, not from fear but cold. One 





126 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


should come, not only with raiment for rain, but gas-mask and 
asbestos shoes. 

There were three fire lakes. Around their sides were cav¬ 
erns in which danced witch-like forms of lava. The fountains 
were very beautiful, but not the kind you want in your front 
yard—they might scorch the grass and call out the fire de¬ 
partment. 

This is quite a popular lake resort—next to those in Swit¬ 
zerland, and rivalling that of the other world. As it is today, 
one has perfect liberty to walk into the lake, fall into a crevice, 
tan his shoe in a flow, or poke his nose in a gassing spatter- 
cone. This delightful freedom will probably be abridged when 
the region is made a national park. Not that there will be 
any bridge across the lake, but we may look for an iron fence 
around the crater, and “Keep Off the Lava” signs. How 
romantic! It may be nicely policed yet Pele is a woman and 
will have her way, smash things and run away, eat up a sugar 
cane field, lick up a town, laugh and make people and the 
earth quake. She dislikes to be watched, and when the pro¬ 
fessor set up an observatory near the brink, she objected, was 
a spit-fire, and talked so vehemently that the observatory was 
taken down and set up elsewhere. 

Next day Professor T. A. Jaggar, Jr., conducted us across 
this “burning marl.” The question was how to stand on the 
beach of this “inflamed sea” and not get burned. I was out 
there twenty minutes, and with shoes $15 a pair, one can figure 
the loss of poor soles. The guide is necessary for there are 
many places through which you may suddenly disappear like 
magic. 

Pele has an unsettled stomach—she belches and vomits lava 
continually, and her breath is so bad that if you inhale it you 
have no breath. Walking through her boudoir we saw Pele’s 
hair, lava spun fine by the wind and scattered all about, lying 
inches deep in places. She should use a hair tonic. Whether 
she is penitent at times over the destruction she has wrought, 
or weeps because Kapiolani ended her sway, is a matter of 
conjecture, but Pele’s “tears” were everywhere. They look 
like black glass beads. On Vesuvius I found lachrymae 
Christi, tears of Christ wine of far-famed flavor. Obeying the 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


127 


Biblical injunction, “Put thou my tears into thy bottle,” I 
gathered up a gallon or so of Pele’s. 

We speak of terra firma—I looked over the edge and saw 
it a melted mass—perhaps thirty-five miles deep. How little 
we know of the interior. It seemed an infinitely big bomb 
full of death. To change the figure, I became a doctor study¬ 
ing this cancer in the bowels of Mother Earth. So far no 
fire department has been able to regulate the smoke nuisance. 
In a fight between fire and water the professor said he would 
bet on the water, but from her Bolshevist colors you decide 
Pele is a Red and that she will fight against being supressed. 

In describing volcanoes some scribblers write in a hot air 
and gaseous way, some in obscure and smoky style, while 
that of others is light and bright. The word volcano is from 
Vulcan. Perhaps he is living with Pele to get even with his 
wife Venus whom he caught in an affair with Mars, a scan¬ 
dal vividly described by Homer. This lame Vulcan, who was 
kicked out of Olympus in a quarrel, is some artist. He can 
forge thunderbolts, and made the armor for Achilles in a 
hurry-up job of a night. We saw him here as a sculptor, Lin¬ 
coln’s night, February 12th, when he turned out a gigantic 
statue of the Great Emanicpator. It proved to be a striking 
resemblance of the Lincoln Park statue in Chicago, though in 
this pose he is sitting, not standing. To the left of the fire 
lakes, with a background of red fire, white mist and blue 
starry sky, he sat at a table, his head leaning on his right hand 
and a large volume opened before him. He was looking 
towards the lakes of fire as if praying that the hell of destruc¬ 
tion that was raging in Europe might be averted from his 
loved land, and the government, of, by and for the people, 
might not perish from off the face of the earth. 

One noon we watched a waterfall of fire. For an hour it 
poured out and gave the lava rocks a shower of sparks. It 
issued from a black hill of lava. One never knows what will 
happen. Next day there was a quake, and the place we had 
walked and stood on, collapsed and tumbled in. 

At night we viewed a spatter-cone, a vestpocket edition of 
Vesuvius, that spat out at intervals like a Fourth of July 
flower-pot. Near the Rest House was a government marker 
to indicate a former lava flow. The stream of lava was headed 


128 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


for it and slowly but surely I saw it being covered and de¬ 
stroyed. I was anxious to save it, so I ran over to where some 
men were removing the observatory, begged them for a 
hatchet, and ran stumblingly back over the rough lava on 
my errand of rescue. It was a bronze medal, a sort of disc, 
engraved and set in the top of a concrete po^t. I struck right 
and left to remove the inscription, believing it was of value. 
It was an heroic task, the lava was coming down just before 
me and would soon bury it and me. So I chopped furiously to 
get it for Professor Jaggar, or my souvenir collection, or hop¬ 
ing to be photographed in the salvage act of securing it. Just 
then some one called out, no word of “Bravo,’’ but “Fine.” 
Fine I also thought, until the voice added, “That will cost 
you $250—you better quit—read what it says.” I did and 
there in engraved letters, lit up by the sun and lava, and so 
plain that any ordinary fool could see it, was the statement 
that it was government property and anyone defacing, muti¬ 
lating or removing the mark, would be fined $250, (I think it 
was that sum). My burning zeal suddenly cooled. I stopped 
and decided to allow Pele to work the marker’s destruction, 
and let the government collect and fine her if it could. What 
fools these mortals be—how often our intentions are right 
and our actions all wrong. 

Man loves risk and agrees to try a thing once which may 
be once too often. Pele *s wild, rushing recklessness sets a bad 
example and is contagious. Curiosity and courage lead one to 
do and dare many things. No one has been bold enough to 
be married here, yet an old maid grew sentimental one night, 
gave me her hand and allowed me to lead her across the lava 
to the verge of destruction. That same night a venturesome 
soldier crowded up to fhe edge of one of the lakes to get a 
night photo. About the time he was fixed, the edge crumbled 
and he nearly went in. Had there been no stronger ledge be¬ 
neath, he would have been a human sacrifice. His companion 
pulled him out by the legs. This was an exposure of foolhardi¬ 
ness that gave him a mental and not a film impression. Speak¬ 
ing afterwards to him of the close call, he confessed that when 
he felt himself going over, his only thought was that the kodak 
was borrowed and the owner would be sorry to lose it. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


129 


This is a mountain of sacrifice. You give up time, money, 
energy, patience, disposition, clothes and shoes. Years ago 
devotees gave themselves. We saw a native party of Hawaii- 
ans. It was night. The man was wrapped in a cloak, sat by 
the Rest House and moaned a chant to Pele. His women folks 
were bundled up in red blankets near the crater’s edge, play¬ 
ing ukulele accompaniments to Pele songs. Beyond them there 
was one who had either taken a drink of gin or broken a bot¬ 
tle as a libation. Chickens, pigs and money are thrown in the 
crater, but not so frequently during the war. Whites come 
here for pleasure, and even now the Kanakas come to worship. 
Families camp by the day and pictures are taken with lava 
as a background. I saw a fond Chinese father ask his Jap serv¬ 
ant to take his six months old baby out to the crater’s edge 
so the child might get a good view, a lasting impression. 

A SHAME 

ELE’S every little movement has a meaning all her 
own, and it is studied here in the observatory by the 
Professor more closely than a party of tourists studies 
the motion of a hula dancer. He devotes and risks 
his life for the scientific study of Pele, and is her warmest 
lover. He invited us to the Observatory and exhibited the 
photos taken of her in all her varying moods. Going down 
stairs we saw the instruments for noting any volcanic quake 
or eruption on the globe. These instruments are so delicate 
that the great savants of the future will see how our party left 
its footprints on the sands of time. Although the building is 
stone and concrete, our arrival made a jar that the needle point 
recorded. This was difficult to believe until I recalled the size 
of our shoes. We ran a close second to the Guatemala quake 
record. All the priceless data is as poorly housed as Murillo’s 
pictures at the wooden gallery in Madrid. Kona gales have un¬ 
roofed the place, endangering all the records of seismograms, 
photo-negatives, m'aps and drawings. Oil is used instead of 
electricity, kerosene for heat, everything the worst and most 
dangerous, not the safest and best. Like other things in the is¬ 
lands there are thousands of dollars for the least important 
things. For art, literature and science, Hawaii makes a poor show- 





130 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


ing. Carnivals, horseraces and tourist hotels, judged by the 
money invested, are here honored institutions. There was money 
to build ugly concrete wings to the Moana hotel, but no wing 
for the Bishop Museum with its world wonder of South Sea 
curios stacked up in dark closets. For three hours I talked to 
Dr. Brigham, one of the most intellectual and entertaining men 
I ever met in this or any other country. He doesn’t have to 
write books for his talks are volumes. Yet this man who has 
put this museum on the scientific map of the world, and whose 
conslusions in many branches are recognized authority in the 
great universities of learning, has been shamefully treated and 
his plans and wishes for the improvement of this Museum in¬ 
sultingly ignored. He has been the leading spirit in collecting, 
housing, classifying and labelling the exhibits, and has cast 
his research light over it all, so that the world might see and 
understand. Yet he is treated worse than a janitor, for he 
isn’t permitted to have a key or duplicate to some of the ex¬ 
hibits to show travelers. A bunch of boneheads try to tell 
him what to do and where to get on and off—what he knows 
about them would make very interesting reading and they know 
it. They would throw him out if they were not afraid of the 
boomerang reaction. 

The sugar and pineapple barons are barren of everything 
except pineapples and sugar ideals. One is to conclude they 
have forgotten the Great Teacher’s words, “That the life (in¬ 
tellectual and spiritual) is more than meat (pines and cane), 
and the body than raiment.” Kilauea’S crater has an area of 
26,000 acres. What a loss to these rich planters and ranchers 
—so much waste space. How many sleepless nights they must 
have spent in planning how to recover and cultivate this Pele 
property. 

We left wondering, should we ever come again, whether Pele 
would be here, for she and her family of brother and six.sisters 
have lodged at different times in the islands of Oahu, Maui 
and Molokai. Why they left we did not learn—it may have 
been that they were unable to pay the high rents and prices 
the tourists must today. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


131 


JUNGLE JOTTINGS 


H iOMER’S “rosy-fingered’’ Dawn, that red-handed serv- 
I ant girl, Aurora, had brushed the cobwebs from the 
sky when we left the livliest member of the island, 
our warmest-hearted friend, Pele, for the Puna sec¬ 
tion with its blue sky and green forests, for none but a fiend 
could be satisfied with red fire and black lava. 


mm 


Puna is a greenhouse where flowers bloom under the glass 
roof of the sky and with the sun for a stove. Strange, that 
where nature seems to be most clothed, people are least dressed, 
and where she is bare, the natives bundle up most. Leisurely we 
journeyed through a small town where many of the Jap women 
watched us comfortably and contemplatively with not much 
on above the waist line, little below. There was no time for 
social life so we plunged into a jungle of trees bedecked with 
bird’s nest ferns, parasitic plants and wreathed with vines. 
Picking our way we paused to pick berries. They were a 
beautiful red but tasteless, like much of the fruit on life’s table, 
or the lips of an old sweetheart. 

The ancient style of Hawaiian architecture was a grass 
house. Few exist now except in books and museums, but we 
were privileged to see and visit one. Happily it is out of range 
of the sparks of Kilauea’s chimney-pot, and were it not, the 
owner has a big ocean nearby for a fire department. It is a real 
thatched house and not a show place. The owner lives here 
on taro, poi, fruit and small garden truck. His place would 
thoroughly please “Walden” wood Thoreau with its woods 
and simple life. I doubt whether this Hawaiian had ever been 
as far as the roaring city of Hilo. Perhaps he felt like the 
Chinese poet, whose lines I quote from memory:— 

“The lady Moon is my lover; 

My friends are the oceans four; 

The heavens, they roof me over, 

The sun is my golden door: 

I would rather follow the condor, 

Or the seagull soaring from ken, 

Than bury my godhead yonder 
In the dust and whirl of men.” 




132 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


The hut floor was earth, there were ashes of fire in the 
corner and calabashes and native mats lying about. To him, as 
to Diogenes, a wooden cup was a luxury. There was a chair 
hanging from the ceiling—a queer place to entertain guests, 
and an old Hawaiian raised bed on the side that looked like a 
high platform. To one used to featherbeds this was as in¬ 
viting as a guillotine. But a native’s weariness can snore on 
flint when restive sloth makes the downy pillow hard. 

The owner was an albino and looked like an escaped side¬ 
show freak. He wore ragged pants, no stockings, and for 
shoes his feet were encased in pieces of non-skid auto tires 
tied together with ropes. His shirt front was open showing a 
scaly dragon skin. His hair was long—so were his nails. They 
say he is a white Hawaiian with fair hair and blue eyes. 
Others say he is a descendant of Spanish mariners shipwrecked 
long ago on the Kalapana coast. Did he get his rubber shoes 
from the discarded blown out tires left on the road? That he 
might see himself as we saw him, and since there was no mirror 
in his hut we photoed him and sent him the picture. 

A BLACK BEACH 

EAVING the umbriferous boskage for the open beach at 
Kaimu, we ran into a crowd of cocoanut trees wildly 
waving their arms in applause and encouragement 
to the Marathon waves, with waving white hair, that 
had run across the ocean, falling exhausted as they reached the 
beach. The enthusiasm was catching. All jumped out and 
skipped to the seashore where we swung our arms and shouted 
like mad. It was on this black sand beach that the movie of the 
“Hidden Pearl” was staged. We danced around like children 
in the dust of a coal bin and came out cleaner than we entered. 
The mother’s advice to her daughter, “Hang your clothes on 
a hickory limb, but don’t go near the water” is good here. 
You must watch your feet for there is a very dangerous under¬ 
tow. Should you disobey and drown, there is a small ginger¬ 
bread church nearby, with a detached steeple, where a fitting 
service may be held, formal and funereal, with the waves for 
mourners. 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


133 


NATURE STUDY 

ALAPANA was a deserted village. The men had gone 
to work for the week-end in the hills. We arrived in 
auto—one could never get in alive by boat through the 
surf. I sauntered up to a Hawaiian girl by the edge 
of a stream washing clothes. She was the only human being 
in sight. In pidgin English I asked her for her picture, and 
was astonished to have her reply, “Certainly sir, is my posi¬ 
tion correct ?” at the same time casting a glance at me like a 
lump of lava. 

The sehoolhouse showed no signs of life, Till recess came 
and then, like brown bees out of a hive, two score boys and 
girls flew buzzing out to play. The boys were barefooted and 
the girls were bare armed and legged, except for several coats 
of tan. I never saw such perfectly fitting, hole-proof tan 
stockings—no one but Mother Nature can make them. I wished 
I were a boy again, attending school here to study anatomy and 
the art of simplicity and affection. Fine school and faculty— 
rocks to teach geology, the ocean to scientifically teach music 
with its rythm, the sky for color and trees for botany! Senti¬ 
mentally, there was the murmur of the foliage, the ripple of 
water and sigh of wind. While I sat musing, the real teacher 
came out, an Hawaiian, who was pleased to have us take pic¬ 
tures of her school, and children as they ran, jumped and 
hurdled over a high stick. She offered one of her scholars as 
guide to the surrounding sites and sights. 

Our car crawled over the rolling hills for three miles and 
then some of our party started to walk. L. and chauffeur 
“ Brick/ ’ a real brick in name and nature, made a round eight 
mile trip to a heathen heiau. They said it seemed longer than a 
Pharisee’s prayer, a Wilson note, or a Burleson explanation. 
They returned with blistered lips and feet. 

TEMPLE OF THE RED MOUTH 

HIS was the red-mouth temple of Wahaula, so-called 
because the idols of the temple were red-mouthed— 
possibly from feeding on so many human victims. 
After being sacrificed on a stone, the stone-dead bodies 
were placed on a stone path running through the temple. This 









134 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


temple was supposed to have been built by the same Paao and 
Co. which built the Mookini heiau. There is an exquisite sea and 
landscape view of cocoanut palms and white billows, and ex¬ 
quisite torture for your feet on the stones at this fetish shrine. 
Fire was sacred here and tabu—if the shadow of the ascending 
smoke fell on one, he was sacrificed. Holy smoke! 

Our party brought back the print of the stone on their feet, 
but a demi-god left his hoof mark on a stone, as well as the 
mark of an arrow he shot at another demi-god coming to fight 
him. The guide did not show the arrow mark, it may be in 
the museum. 

In Hawaiian legend there was a great wrestler who Gotch 
you and killed you if you visited the temple. If the road was, 
as it is now, people must have been half-dead before they 
reached there, so that it wasn’t so much of a feat. This wrestler 
had a girl confederate who lived in an adjacent cave. When 
strangers arrived she gave the Hawaiian wrestler a sign or 
wig-wag. Why? Because she had a depraved taste and loved 
her meat raw and warm. When he had killed his man he 
brought the body to her and she ate it. Her murderous mania 
was for men on her menu. A chief’s friend had been sacri¬ 
ficed in the temple. His ghost appeared and appealed to him 
to visit the temple and recover his bones. It was dangerous, 
but for Auld Lang Syne he went, and alone, having first an¬ 
ointed his body with slippery kukui nut juice. This was as good 
as sweat, for he was slippery and slipped it over on the wrestler 
managing to kill him. When the spirits were out he entered the 
temple and hid under his friend’s bones. The spirits returned, 
and smelling a mouse or a man, declared there was a human 
being in the temple. Then the spirit of the murdered friend 
rose and said, “Not so, he is not here—lie down and go to 
sleep—you are on the wrong scent. ’ ’ The spirits were* snoring, 
it grew late. At midnight the chief crowed like a rooster, 
and. the spirits waked and departed thinking it was morning. 
Then the chief set fire to the grass house and lit out with his 
friend’s bones. Here ends the telling of this terrible, temple 
tale. What interesting people lived in those days. One finds 
nothing now as exciting as that. 





MOLOKAI LANDSCAPE 


















POI-POUNDERS, HALAWA, MOLOKAI 




HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


135 


KALAPANA 

HE caves along this coast are hollowed out by the 
hands of the waves. The entrance to the Cave of 
Refuge at Kalapana is narrow. L. got in about 25 
feet and stuck—he was too fat and hot, so backed out 
of this oven quickly as possible. The cave is so winding that 
no spears could be thrown in, and one was able to keep his foes 
out and at bay. Sensible then, not so now, for it is necessary to 
go down carefully, or you will scrape the clothes off your body 
and flesh off your bones. Consider the war price of clothes 
and shoes. Since there is no electric wiring you take flashlights. 
Unless the rich soon give the poor some help, and politicians 
give women suffrage they may be forced to flee here for safety. 

On returning we found the “sleeping cocoanuts” taking 
their afternoon nap. They had been reclining ever since they 
were bent over when young. The outrigger canoes were safe, 
high and dry on the rocks where the waves had tossed them. 

Had it not been for the high-school teacher, Mrs. Goo Sun, 
who had married a Chinaman, it would have been necessary to 
sleep outdoors with the sleeping cocoanuts. She invited our 
party to camp in her house for the night. I went over to a 
Chink store for groceries, accompanied by wind and rain. The 
store was about ten by twelve feet. The wind blew out the 
light and then started to lay hands on everything in the store, 
scattering them about like a ransacking burglar. The rain 
soaked the Chinks, but they found a few cans of fish floating 
around with which they soaked me. We paid the pirate-looking 
proprietors what they asked. With the whole Pacific ocean be- 
for me, here I was buying fish canned in California. This 
food, added to what Mrs. Goo Sun scared up from her pantry, 
made quite a spread. 

MUSIC AND MOONLIGHT 

E had music with our meals—two native Hawaiian girls 
who could sing and play. What more could you wish? 
You couldn’t get anything better at a N. Y. or Chi¬ 
cago cabaret. Out on the lanai porch we watched 
the moon sail over the waves like a gold-freighted galleon. 










136 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


As an appetizer before supper and sunset, there was a 
triple rainbow for this island is a rainbow rendezvous. 
After dinner we had a lunar rainbow. At Kalapana 
one questions the anti-flood meaning of the rainbow in 
the Bible, for between here and Hilo there are floods 
that drown out the rainbow—that aurora borealis of the South 
Seas. We had seen a flower garden of color at sunset, with 
lilac, violet, pink, rose and orange hue—we were not looking 
for a rainbow after dark. The day sunshine had been beautiful 
but this twilight splendor was glorious. At night the sky is 
more wonderful than the enamelled ceiling of a theatre foyer. 
With this symphony of color, we had all sorts of Hawaiian airs, 
air fanning us, and the soft, melodic airs of the girls. Hawaiian 
music is made of moonbeams, flowers, rainbows, and sighs of 
wind, and is played to the time of heart beats. It is unneces¬ 
sary to describe a ukelele to my readers, they are played all over 
the world—I have even heard they have been introduced into 
heaven and the angels prefer them to harps. 

The diary of our lives this day was surely an illuminated 
page. How glad we were to exchange the “ Tempest ” and 
“Winter’s Tale” of the North, for Kalapana’s “Midsummer- 
Night’s Dream” and “As You Like It.” The hostess, visiting 
girls and “Brick” tickled the ukes, making them ripple with 
laughter. They sang Old Hawaiian airs in a way to bewitch 
us, but— 

* ‘ There’s not a string attuned to Mirth, 

But has its chord in Melancholy. * ’ 

The lively hula always fell into a minor key describing the 
loss of their race and the theft of their islands, and the songs 
of grief were deeper than the ocean. 

We had our bed and board, that is, the women shared the 
real Hawaiian bed and we possessed the board floor, but from 
our long hard traveling we slept like “Rip.” 

ALONG THE COAST 

AKING an early start we reluctantly left the village 
and the day rubbing their eyes. Neptune’s horses 
were on a stampede along the beach of this little world 
that was to us rose-colored, sky-blue and apple-green. I 
think the angels in their earthly flight might pause here many 




HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


137 


weeks without being homesick for heaven. We rode over a lava 
flow. What excitement it would have offered when moving in 
1840. Pits along the road yawned like sleepy mouths of hell. 

Heine tells how in passing by a graveyard one of the tombs 
beckoned him. A minstrel leaped out, and sitting on the tomb¬ 
stone, sang of love. At the word “love,” all the graves opened 
and the occupants came out wailing, “Why do you mention 
love— that is what has brought us here!” Driving by a burial 
ground where the tombs are built on lava stone, I made the 
chauffeur stop for I thought I heard a voice asking me to let 
its imprisoned soul out, for the lava bed and stony pillow 
were too hard for a “lone couch of everlasting sleep.” The 
sides of the tombs were built of wood, the roof of corrugated 
iron, to keep the rain out and from leaking down on the 
corpse and thus disturbing his slumbers. It was more of a dog¬ 
house than a mausoleum. This setting of graves by the wide, 
blue, sounding sea, was a place more fitting the living than 
the dead. How exasperated these inhabitants must feel to have 
their view shut off—what ennui and desolation—all the world 
narrowed to this! 

There is a cave not far away—if you are bad and enter it, 
your skin will change color. I told the chauffeur not to stop, 
we had already changed color sufficiently. Perhaps this may 
account for the colors of the different races on the islands. 

Pohoiki is a midget town on a miniature bay. The two in¬ 
habitants, there may be more, were two young women, aged 
respectively 90 and 50. They were sitting in their holokus (a 
dress not a chair) on the floor, weaving mats from the leaves 
of the lahala tree. Framed in the doorway they made a picture, 
but not a film one, for neither love nor money could induce them 
to come out in the sunshine. The white-haired, wrinkled skin 
weaver was weaving a mat. It was magical and carried me 
back to the time when mat-making was an island industry for 
women, instead of autoing and running around for votes. 

Next we passed a ring of craters where Pele and her family 
once lived. They are for rent now and overrun with weeds and 
grass. A lava road brought us to some lava freaks of nature 
made by hot lava that burned trees, retaining their mould and 
form. The lava built an archway and flower-pots, and one lava 
tree is ten feet in diameter and thirty feet high. The moisture 


138 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


makes it a delightful home for flowers, ferns and centipedes. 
Lean on the tree for a picture and let one crawl down your 
neck, and you will wish you had as many legs as it has to get 
away. 

After this we struck a muddy road, headed for Hilo, wishing 
we had a hydroplane. And would you believe it, the next day I 
saw the oddest thing on the island, a man watering his lawn with 
a hose. 


ALL ABOUT HILO 

ILO is a town where you arrive to leave. No one stays 
here unless he has to. The Spanish proverb, “He who 
goes to Para stops there,” cannot be applied to this 
place. Even the sick go to Honolulu to be operated on. 
When it doesn’t rain you have the splendid scenery of crescent 
bay, Cocoanut Island, and snow-crowned Mauna Kea. You 
journey 229 miles here from Honolulu to get in an auto to go 
thirty mjles to the volcano without stopping, unless there is a 
puncture. 

Hilo is a city of commercial importance second only to 
Honolulu, but I couldn’t buy a pair of detached cuffs and paid 
$2.50 for having my shoes soled. Yet with ship service to 
Honolulu and Frisco I might have purchased some cuffs, but it 
was unnecessary for I wasn’t here to go into swell society with 
a pair of cuffs or a burglar’s jimmy. L. went to order a suit. 
The tailor said it was $20. He came back in 15 minutes 
to have it measured and the tailor said it was $35, thus showing 
a business spirit that predicts great things for the city. 

One improvement I noticed in the last four years is the 
exchange of a moss-covered postoffice for a $3,000,000 Federal 
Building with colonades and Corinthian columns. Yet the moss- 
covered postoffice system still remains under Burleson, the son 
of Hurly-Burly confusion. It is a big postoffice for a small 
town—necessary perhaps on account of the exchange of love 
letters. To be postman on this island, with delivery to all the 
outlandish places and people, must be a frightful punishment. 
Three years ago the streets were muddy, now they are paved. 
In addition to Jap jitneys there is a line of yellow busses with 
brown girls running them. The bus has put bustle in the 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


139 


place. I saw one “bussable” chaufferino and made two round 
trips with her, the most exciting pastime the town affords. There 
are no street-cars yet there are more cars in the street than in 
most cities of its size. The most interesting thing in the Pub¬ 
lic Library is outside of it—the Naha stone, which would re¬ 
quire a government truck to move it. There was a prophetic 
offer that ^ the man who could move this stone would be king of 
the Hawaii island, and that the fellow who could make it turn 
turtle would rule the whole group of islands. Milo’s lifting the 
ox when he was a calf was nothing to this. Kam. I. did every¬ 
thing and everybody. He never left a stone unturned, and 
since he became king of all the islands, it is plain proof that 
he came here and turned over the Naha stone. Paul tells 
Timothy “The Cretans are always liars,” and if he had been 
shipwrecked on this isle he would have learned they had no 
monopoly on the profession. But why doubt Kam.’s power, 
when other Hawaiian chiefs had power to flit and fly from one 
hill top to another—and they didn’t have balloons or aero¬ 
planes in those days. 

Some big fish catches are made here, yet the biggest thing 
ever pulled up was when the demi-god Maui stuck his hands 
in his pockets, took out his magic hook, threw it into the sea, and 
landed the island of Maui. His brother spoiled his good luck 
by turning round, the island broke away, and all that was left 
on his hook was a small piece of land called Cocoanut Island. 
It is now a fambus bathing place and the guide shows you the 
hook mark near the spring-board. Get the hook. Waiting for 
the boat to ferry me across, it was pleasant to think that where 
I stood had once stood an old heathen temple, and that the 
adjacent boat club-house was where the natives were sacrificed 
and their flesh fed to the sharks. No matter how beautiful the 
scenery here, or any where in the world, man has always spoiled 
it. The cocoanuts are not the only nuts on this Coney Island. 
It is a magnet that draws everyone on holidays. Here they 
swarm to swim, sing, play the uke, dance and flirt. It’s so 
small your sure of a crowd. A tidal wave barred us four years 
ago from going over—this time we made it, and the boat¬ 
man was so glad to see us that he charged double fare. Pleasure 
is the only serious thing on the island. That man was made to 
mourn no Hilo soul believes. ’Tis a fine place for dreamers, 


140 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


lovers and pickpockets, to hug and kiss your best girl, no matter 
how homely, and be happier than the gods in heaven. What 
seems conviviality to some is triviality to others—we lefL 

The Masons have a substantial temple and are doing good 
work. Mr. Patten, the banker, a good brother, took me through 
the building and showed me a relic of the craft, a grand master 
chair, Georgian period, Manchester lodge, presented by C. C. 
Kennedy esquire to Kilauea lodge No. 330, F. and A. M. It 
was made in the time of George III. and was used by Queen 
Victoria when she viewed the opening of the canal between 
Liverpool and Manchester. Later Miss Patten and her friend 
Miss De Sha, called for us in a touring car and drove to the 
park where the band was blowing itself, and to the Yacht Club 
where they were transformed into bathing nymphs, appearing 
in abbreviated costumes and giving us fancy exhibitions of div¬ 
ing and swimming. Miss De Sha’s brother is an excellent 
swimtner. In spite of swell and current he swam through a 
narrow passage opening in a rock far down under the water, 
much as a gold fish does through his castle in an aquarium. 
Down the coast is the Seaside Club with a Jap tea house, fish 
pond and heavy surf. The Hawaiian Paradise is said to be a 
few miles from here hidden in a magical forest. Only one man 
found it and he couldn’t find it again. I am sorry for this 
Paradise Lost. 

After our ride we were entertained in Mr. Patten’s beauti¬ 
ful home. The young ladies sang and played for us on piano 
and steel guitar—a music that steals into one’s soul. 

Our party called on Mrs. Shipman and daughter, both 
Hawaiians, at the somewhat unconventional hour of midnight. 
This made no difference for Hawaiian hospitality is proverbial 
and the latch string is always out. Next morning was Sunday 
with a Mormon service held on their lawn. The elder ad¬ 
dressed us sinners as “saints”—a startling classification—I’ve 
been called everything but that, and I am not certain I am in 
that class yet. It is high time I get my halo out of the closet 
and shine it up. During the service he declared his Bible was 
“fuller” revelation than others, that it had a better family 
record. Turning to me he asked, “Do you know where Cain 
got his wife?” I told him no—the main thing was that he got 
her. He didn’t ask me any more questions. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


141 


The city is commercial and one expects bank notes—Mrs. 
Lewis is a classical artistic pianist and gave us musical notes in 
her home. Mrs. T. A. Dranga is an artist, her home a gallery of 
splendid paintings her brush has transferred from the islands 
to her canvas. Her son is an enthusiastic conchologist, and 
her husband, next to the volcano, the most active thing in the 
islands. He buys and sells everything old and new from a pin 
to a piano. His store looks like the Dickens of a place—an 
Old Curiosity Shop. He deals in junk and when w r e came in 
from the volcano he made a bid on us. He prides himself on 
not wearing a hat, and dotes on his auto with which he breaks 
the speed records, the traffic laws and our necks, almost, when 
he took us to the picturesque Boiling Pots and Rainbow Falls. 
He owns and runs a whole town, Kurtis town, and has an¬ 
nounced himself to run for the legislature next year. 

A rubber man, John Stewart, whom I met in Bolivia five 
years ago, where he saved our lives with his Spanish, guiding 
advice, Scotch wit and common sense, saw our names in the 
Hilo newspaper, and though 40 miles away at Paauhou, tele¬ 
phoned me he was coming down. This rubber man had bounced 
across the globe, finally landing on this island of Hawaii on a 
sugar plantation with 300 Japs under him. The last time I 
met him was above the clouds in South America, now in this 
earthly Paradise. He missed his train, but a man who can 
climb over the Andes and knows them by heart, isn’t going to 
have little Hawaiian hills and gulches stand in his way. He 
came by auto, and had there been none, he would have come 
some other way. We were on the veranda of the Hilo hotel. 
He came up the street alone, but I would have known him in a 
London crowd—that cap pulled over one eye, that red mustache 
and a pipe under it, the broad shoulders, swinging gait, the 
big glad hand, the smile, the Scotch brogue, put him in a class 
by himself—always first-class—the class Bobby Burns loved 
when he sang: 

“ The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, 

The man’s the gawd for a’ that.” 


142 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


KAHUNA WIZARDS 

H-SH-SH! Out in the woods at Waikea, in an haunted 
house in the shade of a mango tree, lives an old 
Hawaiian kahuna wizard who inspires more fear in 
some Hawaiians today than anyone else. We went out 
at high noon when we could see things, and not in the dark. He 
did not instill fear as the witches in Macbeth by being withered, 
wild in attire, laying chappy fingers on skinny lips, or seeming 
rapt withal, as though he could look into the seeds of time and 
prophesy which grain would grow and which not. He looked 
like an inhabitant of this world, strong for a man of 109 years, 
who had lived 42 of them in Hilo. He had spent five years 
on a whaler, learning to talk English, went to Alaska, then 
returned to Hilo and worked for elder Shipman. Kihi Kapuli, 
his wife, and all his children are dead. He lingers alone. He 
smiled kindly when Dranga introduced us. I gave him some 
money but hastily withdrew my hand for fear he might pluck 
a hair or nail and pray me to death for not giving him a $100 
check. He was bald-headed as his brother in magic arts, Kel- 
lar, perhaps his hair was snatched away by witches or fell out 
by fright. He looked intently at us over the forest of his big 
white mustache. He wore a short-sleeve, natty tennis shirt, 
short pants held up by a belt, and underdrawers hanging below 
his knees. He gave us more of a smile than a scowl that led 
us to believe he would be our friend and give us good and not 
bad luck and would rather have us live than die. For the 
evil influence he is said to have exerted years ago he was ar¬ 
rested. We entered his lonely, little house though most people 
are afraid and stay away. He has no teeth but eats poi, fish, and 
crackers soaked in coffee, and loves to smoke a plug-cut brand 
of tobacco that does not give him sore throat. He said he had a 
little stomach trouble and was anxious to go to Honolulu to the 
home for aged to end his days. We later met him there—what 
an unromantic and unnecromatic end for a magician, sorcerer 
and dealer with devil spirits. 

Kahunaism is practised today. While waiting for the boat 
“Kinau” at Nawiliwili, Kauai, we met a judge who pointed 
out to us a little Hawaiian girl of 12 years whom he was send¬ 
ing to the Honolulu reform school in care of a Filipino man and 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


143 


wife. That morning in court, he said, he had taken this girl 
from a Filipino whom she had been living with for three weeks. 
The neighbors had complained to the judge that she was too 
young. He asked her in court where her father was, and she 
replied that he was dead, that her mother had taken a lock of his 
hair to a sorcerer in Honolulu, and by this time he must have 
been prayed to death. It came out in the trial that she was tired 
of her Hawaiian husband, had fallen in love with a Filipino, 
and had attempted to get rid of her husband by the kahuna 
route. The mother had told the Filipino who had called on her 
young daughter, that as soon as her old man died he could have 
the daughter. The young Filipino didn’t want to wait that 
long, so he took her to Kauai as wife without benefit of clergy. 

How is this for Twentieth Century Christianity in Hawaii! 
It sounds like a page from Apuleius. What a tale of gross 
superstition and lust. These are the morals of India and Orient 
linked with Pagan credulity. I spoke of this kahunaism with 
horror and was informed that it was quite a common thing. 
A musician had kahunaed his singers, telling them they would 
have bad luck if they left him—they remained. A Hawaiian 
family had a sick child, and fearing that it had been kahunaed 
by their white neighbor with some charm and incantation, the 
mother sent word to thte doctor that if the family had dis¬ 
pleased the neighbor in any way, she would be glad to make it 
right and remove the curse. The judge further said that when 
his father came to the islands he fell in bad favor with a 
kahuna who threatened to pray him to death. The white man 
happened to be a minister and replied, “Go ahead, I know how 
to pray and will kahuna you.” It wasn’t long before the 
kahuna’s wife came to him and said that her husband was sick 
and begged him to cease his prayers. 

This kahuna superstition is still prevalent. I could fill a 
chapter with instances of what I saw and heard. 

Kahunaism was a dark and debasing form of the Hawaiian 
religion and held in common with their dark brothers and 
sisters in the South Seas. Whenever anyone grew sick, it was 
thought some kahuna sorcerer was bitter against him and was 
putting him on the blink. 

There was a medicine kahuna, or quack doctor of the tribe. 
When a man was ill it was because the spirits were against him 


144 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


and must be propitiated. For the big chiefs chapels were built, 
prayers offered and human sacrifices sometimes made. Some¬ 
thing had to be done, so the kahuna went early to market, got 
vegetables and offered them, but they were stale, unless his 
good-will went with them. Vigorous measures were sometimes 
used. The kahuna gave the victim a Turkish bath, set him 
on a pile of hot stones covered with wet leaves, wrapped him 
up in a tapa bathrobe, and then dropped him in the sea. Some¬ 
times he put him on a squid or octopus diet and prayed while 
the sick man choked it down. Failing in this department of 
visible medicine and rough treatment, the doctor called in 
another school—the sorcerers who were familiar with “ spirits/’ 
They were what we call mediums and were of several kinds. 

One order was not the benevolent order of Elks, but mal¬ 
evolent—composed of a female, the deadliest of her sex, who went 
out for mischief. Her very name was enough to throw one in 
a fit Hiiaka-i-ka-poli-o-Pole. Often an evil medium had for a 
partner the spirit of some dead relative whom he had appro¬ 
priated by carefully preserving his bones from the hungry 
dogs, and had offered prayers and gifts for this spook at 
daily meals. 

There was a sort of spiritualistic kahuna. He was a medium 
who could translate the voice of a spirit, whether it came from 
the wind in a cocoanut tree, or thatch of a room. He was an 
echo, and may have known all the tricks of a modern ventrilo¬ 
quist. When in trouble they sent for him. Had a thief stolen 
one’s wife or girl, did his head, back or stomach ache, just send 
for him and he would give a clue and cure. But first of all 
he must have a drink, spirits were wet—you gave him a good 
swig of awa, then the divine afflatus entered him, came through 
his mouth to his stomlach and soul, and he told who the sorcerer 
was who had caused you the trouble. 

One medium ran an A. D. T., furnishing spirits for mes¬ 
senger boys. Kakunas often had hard luck. They were not a 
happy set, were hated, not loved, were regarded as devils, not 
human, and were put out of the wav by being stoned or having 
their heads cut off. In fact, they had as rough a road to 
travel as the modern clairvoyant who is forced to skip to keep 
out of the toils of the police. 

Brown people have always liked the black art. A set called 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


145 


the “Anaana” was greatly dreaded. They worked in secret 
for hire or revenge and were not generally employd by the 
rich or royalty as manicurers. In fishing for death the kahuna 
used bait and went out at night. To get you he first secured 
a lock of hair, toe or fingernail. The servants were very care¬ 
ful housekeepers. Sonne youth now run as great a risk of soul- 
death in the parlors of a pretty manicuress. In absence of 
anything else, a drop of saliva or bodily secretion would suffice. 
The thing the chief did was to guard everything through his 
servant who burned, buried or drowned all the old leavings— 
there was nothing left even for a rag man. Having secured 
some of your belongings or personal souvenirs, the kahuna 
offered a curse, damned and prayed you to death, then burned 
the personal souvenirs, and expected your friends would do the 
same for you soon. If this charm failed he would send you to 
death by the poison route. Another way was to work on the 
imagination. A neighbor would call one morning and say, ‘ ‘ I’m 
sorry for you—you ’re kahunaed, and your funeral is set for you 
next week.” The victim meekly replied, ‘ 4 Well, then, I sup¬ 
pose I must get ready.” His imagination did the rest, told 
him he was already near dead, and when the set time came he 
was. The kahuna was as bad as a bad lawyer today—he set 
high fees according to the amount of injury he inflicted on his 
victims. Naturally the greater the number of victims, the 
greater his reputation and the higher his fees. 

The kahuna was the woman in the case. When a man died 
they sought to learn who had kahunaed him. There was also 
a highway kahuna who went to the road and drew a square, 
or some magic mark, and placed a small stone upon it. When 
his victim stepped on the fatal spot, this K. K. K. of a kahuna 
offered a prayer to the spirit in the stone. So far so well, 
the man felt the same, until the fatal spell struck him and he 
died soon after. What pitfalls then—there was no chance to 
sneak away from the mother-in-law’s jaw, or to get a drink, 
or to make a love call. The kahuna had you. He was worse 
than a hiding policeman trying to nab a speeder. 

Still another kahuna, “apoleo” was a hypnotist. He was 
engaging, engaged you in a conversation, then robbed you of 
your voice and paralyzed your vocal chords. You might live 
a few or many days according to his will. I know of a certain 


146 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


country where the Democratic political kahunas tried to take 
away the voice of the people, silence the press, paralyze the 
preacher and throttle true thought. We need such a kahuna at 
Washington to remove the tongue of many wind-jamming states¬ 
men. 

The Hawaiian wasn’t satisfied with one soul, he had two. 
One went out at night in a dream and came back late again the 
next morning. A kahuna would come up to a man and threaten 
to tell where he had seen his soul last night in bad company, or 
on a drunk, naked with his tongue hanging out and his eyes 
shut. Immediately the frightened man came across, bringing 
chickens, dogs and fish and placed them in a tapa-covered oven. 
The kahuna prayed, cooked the offerings, handed out a free 
lunch and prayer, saying his second prodigal ghost would now 
come home and behave. As a first aid to the injured the kahuna 
had a good fee. 

Another kahuna could see your soul, put salt on its tail and 
catch it with his hand, wring it to death by the throat, or im¬ 
prison it in a gourd. He would then proceed to blackmail the 
owner ad libitum, threatening to kill his soul. This usually 
sent the victim into a decline or down to death. How very 
similiar to the religion that deserts a man in life like the man 
on the way to Jericho, or leaves him at the half-way house 
in purgatory, or to burn in hell unless his family mortgages the 
kitchen stove for funds to save him. 

There were star-gazers in those days, not including the lovers 
on the beach. They looked at stars and moon to help their 
imagination. Another kahuna was a weather-bureau who told 
the change in the weather as successfully as some do now, and 
could forecast tidal waves, shoals of fish, or the death of chiefs. 

The poor Hawaiian, like many modern natives, was ground 
between the military and clergy, the chief and the priest. The 
priests were sure of their job because it was hereditary and 
had been established by Paao. They had power to mediate with 
God, a direct wireless and cable, and to select human sacri¬ 
fices. They taught the children their prayers, conducted the 
schools, and had a corner on history, medicine and astronomy. 
For all this they were well paid in real estate which was set aside 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


147 


for them. Still other kahunas prayed the people to death and 
some of the doctors relied more on charms than drugs. 

And here I was, talking to a Kahuna! 

WORLD-WIDE WITCHCRAFT 

ROM the dawn of creation the world has been be¬ 
witched. Magic is not a mere fairy story for children’s 
amusement. One cannot understand the world’s his¬ 
tory or literature unless he is familiar with spirits, 
and witches. 

Egypt and Chaldea were the original homes of magic. Nile 
mud gave birth to many plaguey monsters. Magic and re¬ 
ligion were sisters in Babylon; in Chaldea magic was astrono¬ 
mical. The priests interpreted dreams (from rarebit symptoms) 
and forecast the future. 3,000 years B. C., the Chinese worked 
out the future by geometrical figure. Persian Magi were sooth¬ 
sayers, Lapp witches abounded, not the variety that lands in the 
sailor’s lap, strokes his face with one hand and picks his pocket 
with the other, but wizards from Siberia to Greenland, who 
flourished in the 17th century, and were accustomed to a spirit¬ 
ual orchestra with sacred drum symbols, not the brass ones of 
the jazz band. By this means they knew what was going on in 
the foreign world, how their present plans would succeed and 
what sacrifices were necessary to please the Gods. 

Reason, foresight and common sense have not figured in the 
art of divination, yet for centuries the witch spirit has governed 
peoples and kingdoms, proving the world mad. Democritus 
was no fool when he laughed at its crazy inhabitants and said 
the world was mad. 

In some lands Fate was learned by casting lots, as good as 
any other way, perhaps, for no man knows what a day may 
bring forth. The Romans, Jews and Celts used auguries, studied 
numbers, cries, and the flights of birds. This was an up-in-the- 
air method to those who did differently. There was the butcher 
belief of Haruspication, of those who told world history and 
future events and got at the heart of the matter by the examina¬ 
tion of the entrails of animals. We find it difficult to stomach 
this belief of the Etruscans, Romanis, Babylonians, Incas of 
Peru and natives of Africa. The Druids didn’t know how to 



demons 




148 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


bet on a race, play the market, or decide who would be the next 
president until they killed a man and received a tip from the 
way he fell, looked, threw fits and how his blood flowed. The 
Romans believed in Pyromancy, using firelight to look into the 
future, or dropped melted wax or lead into water and prophesied 
according to the shape the materials assumed. Is this more fool¬ 
ish than our practise of fortune-telling by tea leaves? Some 
Etruscans used three drops of oil in water, ashes or finger- 
rings. 

From earliest days Crystallomancy has been in vogue. Men 
looked into a pool of ink, a mirror, or a crystal globe. This 
ink pool was as large as the ocean, if we may judge by the 
number of writers who have dipped their pens in it to inform 
us of the future state of heaven or hell, politics or religion. 
In his satirical poem, “Germany, a Winter Tale,” Heine read 
the future of Deutschland by poking his head in a close-stool. 
I think the mirror is the best medium to inform us of what we 
are coming to. Let the young man or woman next morning 
after a debauch look into a glass and see which way they are 
going. Speaking of glass, I wonder if the general reader knows 
that it was not John Milton who first wrote “Paradise Lost,” 
but Thomas Peyton in his “Glasse of Time,” 1620, forty years 
before. 

Dactylomancy was practised by swinging finger-rings, but 
the rings given now by lovers, brass or diamond, show the 
future course of true love. Then there was Bibliomancy where 
one opened a sacred book, placed his finger on a word or line, 
and read the good or ill underneath. I know this to be a 
Holland-Dutch practice. Every Christmas morning early, and 
before a word was spoken, we children came quickly down 
stairs, took the big Bible, opened it at random, closed our eyes, 
and with a hickory-dickery sort of motion, stuck our fore¬ 
finger on the page. The verse we touched was the omen for the 
rest of the year. But remember it must be a good book—it 
matters much whether it is the Bible or the latest French novel. 

Palmistry or cheiromancy is prevalent. It shows the lines of 
conduct, hard or pleasant, by the lines of one’s palms. Gypsies 
get a good living out of this. Western cities are full of these 
hand-squeezers, and the rube dupes line up in their parlors, 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


149 


lining the palmist’s palms with gold. Of all gold grafters they 
have the itching palm. 

Imitative witchcraft existed for many years in Europe. If 
you wanted to get even with a man, and waxed wroth at him, 
you made a waxen image of him, melted it before the fire’ 
believing that as it melted his strength would wax weaker until 
he was no more. This practice came into Egypt, Greece and 
Rome from Chaldea, and later into India, Malaysia and North 
America. 

There was the magic of incantation. The priest sang and 
intoned certain words for supernatural effect. He could utter 
a benediction or a malediction. Thus the ancient Japanese dis¬ 
sipated evil and the Koreans, who now believe themselves 
cruelly treated by the Japs, should intone these Buddhist 
magic spells which they originally gave the Japanese emperor 
in 577 A. D. 

The great prophet Daniel tells us in his book that he became 
“master of the magicians, enchanters, Chaldeans, and sooth¬ 
sayers” of Babylon. The old Gaelic monks called the pagan 
priests, who opposed St. Patrick and St. Colombia, magi and in- 
cantadores. 

I listened to an old Hawaiian woman recite a chant or in¬ 
cantation that princess Ruth gave long years ago at Hilo to 
stop the lava flow of Kilauea. She sat in the doorway of Queen 
Emma’s house, the light falling on her face and moved her 
lips like a muttering witch with “wild and whirling w^ords.” 
Scott has Norma chant while she works her charms. 

There were varieties of magic, black, national, white, celes¬ 
tial, Gaelic. In Australia, as in Hawaii, it was believed that if 
a man died the magic of some enemy had caused it. In South 
America the Indians smoke themselves into a state for good or 
bad spells. In India soothsayers swarm like flies on sugar. 
Africa has rain-makers and medium men with power of life 
and death who play the elements of nature. Mohammedans 
have spells, exorcisms, charms and favorite amulets as I have 
seen in my travels, for they always offer their help, especially at 
the base of the pyramids. In Egypt magic each part of the 
body was placed under the protection of some sort of amulet, 
but I managed to exorcise the devil in other ways. The Hebrew 


150 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


used the pentagram as a sign of a philosophic or theurgic magic. 
The Greeks consulted oracles and worked charms and spells. 

In mythology we find the black art practised by the Black 
Sea. Medea was a headliner in sorcery. Instead of a limousine 
she had a surpent-drawn chariot. She was a “charming” woman, 
and helped Jason secure the Golden Fleece, for he had fallen 
for her charms. She put the dragon to sleep and changed 
Jason’s father from an old to a young man. This is not the 
first instance where age has become giddy—generally it is the 
young who are made old. Medea had a magic caldron in her 
kitchen in which she threw vegetable and animal life, making 
a rejuvenating soup. She was a spell-binder and could hypno¬ 
tize. She aided the Argonauts in their escape, for when her 
father pursued them, she caused her brother to be killed and 
his limbs thrown into the sea, not to feed the sharks, but to 
gain time by compelling her father to gather the remains piece 
by piece. When Jason threw her down for another girl, she 
sent her the gift of a poisoned robe, killed her own children, 
set fire to the palace regardless of loss, leaped into her serpent- 
drawn car and fled to Athens where she caught a king, marrying 
Aegeus. Euripides wrote a yellow melodrama about her. 

Circe was another famous charmer and was written up by 
Homer in the Odyssey. She had power to turn people into 
swine. This isn’t very wonderful for most everybody can do 
that without any aid from sorcery. 

Nurses delight to scare children with stories of demons, but 
such philosophers as Socrates and Plato were under demon in¬ 
fluence and believed in them. Socrates was poisoned on the 
charge of introducing novel, demoniacal powers among the 
young men. Horace, the Latin Omar Khayyam, writes of 
witches that mangled a boy. Tibullus, the sob-writer, employed 
a witch and magic means to steal another man’s wife. Ovid, 
Theocritus and Seneca described enchantresses and their charms. 
Virgil, that writer of dread high school memory, in his eighth 
pastoral, speaks of the charms of some enchantress who tried 
by spells of magic to make Daphnis fall in love with her. 
Apuleius, the short story and snappy writer of his day, was 
prosecuted for being a magician and gaining the affections of 
a woman by witchcraft. His “Defense, a discourse on Magic,” 
is a classic. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


151 


In his “Tale of a Golden Ass,” Apuleius tells us all about 
witches—how they can make rapid rivers run backward, congeal 
oceans, rob the wind of breath, stop the sun in his course, draw 
the moon down to earth by incantations, pluck stars from their 
spheres, annihilate day and prolong night, raise shades of the 
dead, dethrone the gods and illumine the depths of Tartarus. 
He speaks of a sorceress who, disliking her neighbor, changed 
him into a frog to swim in a cask of his own wine, in which 
he croaked hoarsely to his customers. There were the Lamiae, 
who resembled the ghouls of the Arabian Nights. They were 
fond of the flesh of women and children and prowled around 
at night to satisfy their sensual desires. Keats describes one 
of these she-devils in his poems” “Lamia.” 

Apuleius tells of the traveler who journeyed to Thessaly, that 
land of magic where the cities are under a spell: the stones, pet¬ 
rified men; the birds, men transformed and feathered; fountains 
of water flowed from liquified human bodies. He saw the 
witch Pamphile change herself into an owl, and he writes of 
Telephron, the student, compelled to watch a corpse at night, 
that the witches might not tear off pieces of the dead with 
their teeth to use as ingredients in their magic art. 

In his “Masque of Queens,” Ben Jonson describes a meeting 
of the hags and what they brought. They came from lakes, 
fens, rocks, dens, woods, caves, churchyards and graves. 

‘ ‘ From the dungeon, from the tree 
That they die on, here are we.” 

These eleven hags bring everything—a mad dog’s foam, the 
spurging of a dead man’s eyes, the brain of a black cat, and one 
killed an infant with a dagger to have his fat. The seventh 
hag cries: 

“ A murderer, yonder, was hung in chains, 

The sun and wind had shrunk his veins; 

I bit off a sinew; I clipped his hair, 

I brought off his rags that danced in the air.” 

In Middleton’s play “The Witch,” Hecate comes on the 
scene and declares her mission. 


152 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


“ Well may we raise jars, 

Jealousies, strifes, and heart-burning disagreements, 
Like a thick scurf o ’er life, as did our master 
Upon that patient miracle.’’ (Job.) 

This witch fed her spirits on a diet of barley soaked in in¬ 
fant’s blood. 

Thus witches move in the scenes of the greatest literature. 
What would ‘ ‘ Macbeth ’ ’ be without the witch scene, Hecate and 
the three weird sisters, or his “Tempest” without Prospero, the 
magician, and Caliban, the son of a witch? Often I have be¬ 
lieved that some of the soup menus I have eaten around the 
world were made by chefs who were classic scholars of the cal¬ 
dron contents of Shakespeare’s witches, “gall of goat, nose of 
Turk, finger of birth-strangled babe, wool of bat, tongue of 
dog, lizzard’s leg and fillet of the fenny snake.” 

Spenser’s “Faery Queene” is a continued tale of monsters, 
enchanters, magicians and witches. Marlowe’s ‘ ‘ Doctor Faustus ’ ’ 
sold his soul to the Devil, yet Faustus realized on his incanta¬ 
tions, and had the immortal kiss of Helen whose face launched 
a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium. He 
is not the only one who sold his soul for a kiss. Goethe received 
his idea of “Faust” from Marlowe. One of the greatest plays 
of Calderon, the famous dramatist of Spain, is “El Magico 
Prodigioso,” in which a Daemon plays a leading part. 

If the respectable reader has never attended a witches’ Sab¬ 
bath, he should permit Gautier to be his guide. In his “Al- 
bertus, or the Soul and Sin,” Gautier tells how a witch be¬ 
comes a bewitching woman, entices Albertus suddenly into her 
arms, turns into a hag and they both ride on broomsticks to the 
tryst. Enroute they pass incubi. deformed spectres, nightmares, 
bald vultures, bats, owls, styrgae with hooked beaks, ghouls, 
larvae, harpies, vampires, were-wolves, mammoths and leviathans, 
all bound for the same place located in a forest open and lighted 
by a blue flame. Here are gathered wizards and rude witches 
on goats, divinities and magi, also delightful coteries on the 
side of skeletons, a hanged man with protruding tongue and 
handless parricides. The president was reading a book illumined 
by the green light of his eyes. Then an orchestra struck up, 
one man using his belly for a drum and his bones for drum¬ 
sticks. All at once they started dancing and the heavens closed 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


153 


their starry eyes, the moon hid her face in the clouds, and echo 
became silent for fear she might repeat the blasphemies heard. 
Never did Sodom darken the sky and soil the earth with fiercer 
foulness. The Devil sneezed. “God bless you,” said Albertus, 
and suddenly at that name the witch, the wizard, gnome and 
sprite vanished into thin air. Albertus felt sharp teeth and 
fierce claws strike and tear his flesh. He shrieked, but none 
heard. Near Rome, that morning the peasants on the Appian 
way found the body of a man stone dead, his back broken and 
neck twisted. It was Albertus. If you like more devil and 
witch stories read “St. John’s Eve,” by the Russian writer 
Gogol—it will make you pull the bed clothes over your head at 
night. 

We have the Old Testament account of the witch of Endor 
whose headquarters were near Tabor. Saul had sinned and 
turned from God to the devil. He went to see this subterranean 
sorceress who pretended she could wake up a dead spirit and 
make him appear. She called and God answered, sending the 
shade of Samuel to shame her and give King Saul his last 
warning. In the New Testament magic sorcery is found. We 
have the acts of Sim:ons Magus and Elymas, also the girl pos¬ 
sessed of a “spirit of divination.” She is equivalent to the 
Old Testament familiar spirit, and combines the spirits of super¬ 
stition and clairvoyance. 

In the legends of King Arthur, Merlin, the enchanter, had 
a rival in King Erricus of Sweden who could command spirits. 
He had an enchanted cap, could w r ave it, speak a magic word, 
bar spirits and direct storms so that it became a proverb 
that Erricus had on his wishing cap when there was bad weather. 

Several Hawaiians told me that Kalakaua was versed in 
the mysteries of magic art and had a little tin-god or shrine in 
his palace for his private devotions. 

Cotton Mather was a witchcrafter and urged the people to 
burn witches. He was industrious and learned, and as a by¬ 
product of his energy he persecuted. He and three ministers 
held a day of fasting and prayer over a neighbor’s children. 
He fanned the fanatic faith of the community by word and 
book, and was responsible for the bloody fury visited on the in¬ 
nocent. He later said, “There had been a going too far in that 
affair.” The height of this witchcraft delusion was reached in 


154 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Salem, 1692, when a score of persons were put to deoth. 

You all know what happened to Tam O’Shanter when he 
was chased for looking on at a witch dance, but are you familiar 
with Mark Twain’s, “The Mysterious Stranger,” telling of the 
deviltry and witchcraft of the Middle Ages, of enchanters and 
astrologers ? It is a terrific satire and arraignment of the human 
family. If you want to know what a fallen race you belong to 
read this book. 

So far I have indicated that all this so-called silly, sorcery 
stuff, has been food for philosophers and poets, is reflected in 
their belief and pages, and rules the world today. We are now 
bewitched by the siren of fame, pleasure and wealth. The hocus- 
pocus humbuggery and incantations of driveling doctors of divin¬ 
ity, polluted priests, perfidious politicians, subsidized editors and 
soulless corporations, charm money from our pockets, brains 
from our heads, and love from our hearts. Superstition still 
cracks its whip over our backs—our faith has its fetish. War¬ 
time spell-binders and orators make thousands of honest men and 
women knaves and fools. 

Devil diplomats plot black art; justice is juggled; the en¬ 
chantresses of society’s circles draw and hold; drink and smoke 
strangle and choke, turning us into animals. Gambling takes a 
chance and we are not much better than our fathers. 

Just as Faustus conjured up Mephistophilis with his formula, 
so today lawyers raise the devil with their cabalistical jargon 
which only they can understand. 

Magicians and enchanters of old raised storms and tempests 
with a few words—now statesmen raise war clouds with a few 
sentences. 

As the magicians brought the moon down to the earth, so law, 
learning and religion have brought down lunacy to this planet. 

Beware the bogeyman lest he bewitch you. 

Who knows but that when a dog bays the moon, some wizard 
in animal form, by incantations, is trying to charm it down to 
earth. 

Who knows whether the caterwaul of a noctambulistic black 
cat may not be a witch talking in an unknown tongue with 
familiar spirits? Who knows whether the frog croaking in the 
marsh is not chanting some mysterious rite? Who knows?—1 
don’t, do you? The thought is too perplexing—let us leave it 
to metaphysics. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


155 


CRIMINAL CRAFT 

E left Honolulu enroute to Maui on the steamer 
‘ 1 Claudine, ’ ’ owned and run by the Sugar Trust, and 
after a few hours sail concluded that a fit punishment 
for the Kaiser would be to make him sail on this boat 
for a couple of days. I threw up everything but my immortal 
soul—enough to fill the crater of Haleakala. 

The steamer berth was narrow, until you called the steward 
and he gave you a wide berth, or until you got seasick, when 
everyone gives you a wide berth. The “Claudine” had a new 
captain because the old one had been laid off a few months be¬ 
fore for running her on the rocks. I was sorry she didn’t stay 
there. Like other boats of this rich company, it planned to get 
you out in the big swells before you could eat and early into port 
so as not to feed you. Some seasick passengers, who hadn’t 
eaten, were forced to disembark at Kahului next morning be¬ 
fore breakfast with nothing but dry toast and a cup of poor 
coffee. The steamship company would not treat passengers so 
shamefully if there were any competition. Moreover, the rates 
are exorbitant for the distance run and the accommodations 
received. 

The week before we left the islands, two boats went down in 
one of the channels, and it was only a miracle that saved the 
crews. Yet none of these boats have wireless, though the run 
between some of the ports is over 200 miles. Why the absence 
of this ordinary precaution? Because it costs money to install 
it. I wonder how much money was paid the lobbyist at Wash¬ 
ington to get exemption from this absolute necessity of modern 
sea travel. | True, you are near land at times, but even then 
far enough away to suffer and be drowned, because no big boat 
can be S. O. S.’d to the rescue. The Bible asks, “How much 
better is a man than a sheep?”—how much less are natives and 
tourists than sugar and pineapples ? 



MOUNTAIN-CLIMBING 

HAD no sooner fallen asleep than a mosquito stung 
me and I knew I was in port. In the distance rose the 
head of Haleakala bediamonded with stars, and a cane- 
fire on its side looked like a volcanic eruption. Ar¬ 
rangements for our trip were soon made, and an auto whirled 


I 







156 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


us by the windy harbor of Kahului to the Maui Hotel at Wai- 
luku. The manager, Will Field, and his wife, ran the hotel 
first-class every way and gave us the best there was which was 
good enough for anyone. But it was business before pleasure, 
so arranging to go by auto and horse 20 miles and 10,000 feet 
up before sunset, we soon left the hotel with the Spanish proverb 
on our lips, “To get out of the Inn is one half of the journey /’ 

Banker Aiken, at the village of Paia, is the man who fur¬ 
nishes mule and man power for these trips, and was waiting to 
say bon voyage to us on the deck of his mules. The traveler 
is one of the mainstays of the island, and were it not for him, one 
could see but little, and only then under the greatest difficulties, 
for these and others of Maui’s beauty spots are frequently denied 
the tourist on account of the difficulty of reaching them. The 
selfish souls of planter plutocrats stand like the angels at Eden 
and bar the way. As it was we were not able to see the wonder¬ 
ful Ditch Trail on account of the impossibility of securing mules 
and horses from the planters. 

We were off by cane fields, mills, towns and hamlets, slowing 
up by the reservoir that is being completed to irrigate home¬ 
steads and which is a drain on the pocketbook. At last Aiken’s 
half way house was reached where we found our Jap guide, horse 
and two mules. L. and I were Don Quixote and Sancho in 
quest of adventure. The name of my mule was “ Friday/’ and 
she was everything but “good” Friday, for she balked all the 
time. Bulwer said, “On horse back I am Caesar, I am Cicero” 
—I felt like a clown in a circus and my words were not classic. 
On this mountain side there are cattle ranches containing about 
50,000 acres. The scenery appeals very little to mules and 
horses—it’s a hard climb and the rider and altitude make it 
harder to the top of Haleakala. I spelled the first syllable with 
an e and two 11’s when I was forced to pull my mule half way up 
the mountain with a rope. 

One should have seven league boots to climb the steps of this 
“House of the Sun.” From the number of empty bottles scat¬ 
tered about I discovered why Old Sol has such a fiery face. 
From the multitude of cans along the side of the precipice, I 
christened the slopes the “tin canyon.” 

Up and on we went over rocky ravines, through brush that 
tore leggings, crossed a stream, followed guide posts, erected be¬ 
cause some easily get lost here, scaring cattle, and urging “Fri- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


157 


day" on with voice, heel and whip. We rested while the mnles 
stopped to breathe or browse and looked down on a wonderful 
picture of land and water by distance made enchanting. 

Now we enter cloud land and like a sponge the mist wipes 
the sweat from our faces. As we rise higher the clouds are at 
our feet, making us seem like saints in Old World pictures. 
Here the guide gathered brush wood for fire to cook, and warm 
us when we reached the Rest House. There is good goat-shoot¬ 
ing. Some come to see God’s glory and others to shoot goats. 
Speaking of hunters reminds me that Maui was the island’s 
greatest sportsman. T remembered how he fished up this island 
on a magical hook. Do you know how he climbed Haleakala, 
lassoed the sun with cocoanut rope, broke off his beams and 
threatened to kill him if he didn’t slow up so that his mother, 
Hina, who took in washing, could have more time to dry her 
kapa clothes? The sun was obliging and said all right. His 
course was stayed and Maui was put in the Joshua class. 

How many would like to exert the same power, and yet how 
hard it would be for the world’s work and night’s rest, if others 
were able to blockade Sol’s chariot! For instance, the murderer 
to be shot at sunrise; the girl who wants to dance all night; 
and the daylight saving administration. I saw a lot of Hina’s 
clothes lying about, for the clouds are her tapa and she hangs 
them up to dry. She keeps them down with stones, and when 
the stones roll off it is the thunder we hear. Our mules were 
dry-shod and we thought how lucky it was that we were not 
ascending from the other side which is deluged continually. In 
1904 there were 420 inches of rainfall there. 

Like Maui I wanted to catch the sun before he retired, so I 
yanked ‘ 4 Friday” the rest of the way to the rest house. Even 
here we could see the islands were being Orientalized, for just as 
we found Jap tea-houses and tea-gardens in the cities, Sol had a 
Jap torii gate here through which we passed. The mules were 
stabled in an old stone shed without anything to eat till the 
next day, not that they were like naughty boys and sent to bed 
supperless, but because there was no food. 


158 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


THE HOUSE OF THE SUN 

HILE the Jap cooked the supper we crept out to the 
brink of the crater to fill our eyes and soul. The cloud 
and mountain sublimity from this summit was second 
only to that which I saw in the Himalayas. It was a 
Plutonic panorama. If this extinct crater were active, and all 
its smaller cones playing in concert at once, I wouldn’t care 
for a parquet seat, but would prefer one in a balcony of another 
sphere. To use another figure, Haleakala was a mouth and 
throat of hell with cancer sore cones in it, the smallest cone 
being over 400 feet high and the largest 900. 

Sol’s house is no bungalow or Hawaiian grass hut. His re¬ 
ception room is ten miles square, the side walls ten thousand 
feet above the clouds. He always keps open house—there is no 
roof. The cellar is half a mile deep and it is 23 miles around 
the premises. The banquet hall is deserted except for tourists 
and goats, but the guests had a hilarious time when live, hot 
lava-blended couples swept by in waves of mad merriment to 
the music of wind and steam and the time of falling rocks. The 
rocks looked like clinkers of a big furnace w'hose fires are out. 

The sun set a red seal on the blue envelope of the sky and 
the clouds resembled some chimercial country with canyons of 
hills, islands, plains, and sea. We were disappointed in the 
color, but the purple shadow of our mountain, as the sun set, 
was thrown on the wall of the sky. It was gigantic and jarred 
the imagination. We moved our legs and waved our hands 
but were not in the shadow picture. 

I thought I would like to stay up here, like a gargoyle on a 
cathedral, but man is not made for mountain tops, and St. 
Stylites has few imitators. Night came. I was disappointed, 
the stars were so near I reached up to gather a handful as sou¬ 
venirs for my friends to be used as stick-pins, but they were 
just out of reach. In fact there was plenty of room; like Horace 
I did not strike my head against the stars, for Maui had lifted 
up the sky, from lying on the earth, smoothed it with adz, and 
placed it in its present position. It’s up there till some cosmic 
quake shakes the plaster down. 

It was so high we could talk with the seraphs. At times 
the wind roared around in the pit like a madman in a cell. Then 
again it was so still you could almost hear the world turning on 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


159 


its axis. The wind was like an aerial ocean with ebb and flow. 

In the distance Manna Loa and Mauna Kea were like islands 
in the sea of clouds. Finally hunger and cold led us into the 
new rest house of cement with double decked beds as in bar¬ 
racks or a penitentiary. There were blankets enough for a regi¬ 
ment. The lamp was lit, we lit into the meal and the repast 
was passed. Then came sleep, “chief nourisher in life’s feast.” 
As I pulled the bed clothes over my head I thought of the 
clothes of a perfect day. We had no bother of mosquitoes at 
this altitude. The roaring of the wind awoke us and we were 
afraid it would blow out the stars. The Big Ben sent in his 
alarm at 4 A. M. We climbed out of sleep in the lofty lap of 
Haleakala and stalked out unblushingly to see the sun get out 
of bed. We surprised a couple of angels taking their morning 
constitutional, and we also hustled to keep warm. 

The pit that had been painted red the night before was now a 
beautiful blue. But there was no riot of colors. Way beyond 
the city was blinking its eyes, the Kohala Lighthouse winked 
through the fog bank, smoke of burning cane rose like incense to 
heaven and Haleakala resembled an island surrounded by clouds. 
Far down in the valleys where the cities slept, it was dark—we 
were up so high that it was as if we saw the sunrise of the day 
after tomorrow. He came up and threw our mountain shadow 
on the other wall of the sky. One small gilded cloud swam in 
and around the big crater like a gold fish in a bowl. But for 
colored sun rises and sun sets, I have seen better in front and back 
yard in Minneapolis. Napoleon, on Mt. Tabor, looked down on 
the cloudy smoke of battle—here we stood and gazed down on 
the battle of clouds. Soon there was a white cloud of truce. We 
felt like gods as we quaffed nectareous coffee and devoured 
ambrosial toast. Much revived, I quoted the Ninety-First Psalm, 
knelt at a rocky altar in this great cathedral of space, feeling, 
“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall 
abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” 


160 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


CLOUDS. 

HAVE often wished I could rent the gondola of the 
moon for a night’s sail through the clouds, touching 
at different star islands and skimming the Milky way. 
Clouds are curtains in the theater of space behind 
which stars sing and shine. If a visible bag of vapor is two 
miles up in the air, it is a cloud, if it is around your head it 
is a fog. In physical geography clouds are classified as cumulus, 
stratus, cirrus, nimbus. We speak of clouds of war, that a man 
who is visionary dwells in cloud land, and in morals of a cloud 
on a woman’s character. 

What a great thing to be a god, and sit on Olympus with a 
cloudy couch to lie on! Mythology says that when the cloud- 
compeller Jupiter wearied of his wife, Juno, he flirted with girls 
on earth and camouflaged his love and liaisons with clouds. He 
raised a cloud to conceal his love for Io, and when he visited 
Danae he appeared in a golden shower. 

When the gods went out for a summer trip they generally took 
a wardrobe of clouds along, and traveled in a cloud or raised 
a dust to conceal themselves, just as some of our rich demi-god 
auto owners do when they pick up a pretty girl on the street and 
elude the speed-cop. 

In picture books the artist has a background of a cloud of 
angel faces. In early Sunday school days we fell asleep to dream 
of angels walking on or riding in the clouds, a difficult per¬ 
formance for heavy mortals. Picnic day had a cloud of gloom 
and a tear shower of regret when the sun was clouded. Clouds 
are a great playground for cherubs. If you removed the clouds 
from the pictures in the world’s art galleries, what would be¬ 
come of the masters? Yet of all who try to paint clouds, how 
many succeed? I have wept at old pictures of sainted chil¬ 
dren, and men and women, who for over a century have endured 
martyrdom, sitting, standing or lying on the ragged, broken, 
razor-edge of some cloud. 

The Bible tells us God has set his bow in the cloud—man re¬ 
quires firm piers for his bridge, but the Creator can set up his 
rainbow bridge on banks of clouds. Israel’s oriflamirie of vic¬ 
tory was a pillar of cloud by day. Elijah went up to heaven in 
a chariot of cloud drawn by fire horses. In Revelation John 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


161 


beholds, in the high circle of celestial society, a mighty angel com¬ 
ing down from heaven clothed with a cloud. David tells how 
God commanded the clouds of heaven and rained down manna 
to the hungry Israelites. Isaiah said the Lord rideth upon a 
swift cloud—man at best rides ships, trains, autos and airplanes. 
Moses went up into Mt. Sinai for six days and the glorious 
cloud was his shelter, not a tourist hotel or pension. The manu¬ 
facturer smudges the ceiling of the sky with his clouds of smoke. 
Job said, “He scattereth his bright cloud.” We are stifled by 
a cloud of sycophants and parasites on earth, but the Psalmist 
says, “Clouds and darkness are round about him; righteousness 
and judgment are the habitation of his throne. ’ ’ To the guilty, 
Macbeth-mad soul, tortured with the memory of his crimes, how 
great the promised comfort,” I have blotted out as a cloud thy 
sins.” Tardy earthly courts defeat justice, but of Nahum it 
is said, “The lord will not at all acquit the wicked; the Lord 
hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds 
are the dust of his feet.” The Saviour told his hypocritical 
hearers that they saw a cloud rise out of the West and straight¬ 
way said it would rain, but they could not discern the signs of 
the times. Today people keep tab on weather conditions from 
daily press weather-bureau reports, but of the cloud in the mind 
or storm in the heart they care little. It was a voice from the 
cloud on the Mount of Transfiguration which said, “This is 
my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased; hear ye him. ’ ’ So 
now the Father may speak to his child directly from above with¬ 
out man’s attending a formal service and listening to a super¬ 
ficial, plethoric-pursed preacher. David meditates on the ma¬ 
jesty and providence of God, exclaiming, “Who maketh the 
clouds his chariot.” 

Aristophanes uses the “Clouds” as a vehicle of satire to poke 
fun at the sophists with their heads in the clouds. This light¬ 
ning wit shows a Thinking-Shop where the pupils of Socrates are 
seen with heads fixed on the ground, while Socrates himself is 
seen suspended in air with his head in a basket. Socrates says 
he holds converse with the clouds, his divinity, that they sup¬ 
ported him with thought, argument, intelligence, humbug, cir¬ 
cumlocution, ability to hoax and comprehension; that he be¬ 
lieved in three things, Chaos, clouds and the tongue; that clouds 
are food for sophists, soothsayers, practisers of medicine and 


162 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


meterologieal quacks. Aristophanes called the clouds, “curls of 
hundred-headed Typho,” “crooked-clawed birds floating in the 
air.” J 

In many countries I have climbed the ladder of the moun¬ 
tains, been above the clouds, like Manfred have spoken to the 
Spirits of the air, and chatted and carried on a polite conver¬ 
sation with aerial demigods. 1 thought how wonderful it would 
be if, like Byron’s Cain, I could have Lucifer as a guide to 
show me the sights of other worlds, clouds and spheres. Lucifer 
has been the guide in this world and the next for millions. 

We are nothing more than clouds and melt into the air 
like the spirits of Prospero who says, 

‘ ‘ The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 

The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 

Leave not a rack behind.” 

Buskin, with the insight of a philosopher and the style of 
Scripture, has chapter essays on “Cloud Beauty,” “Cloud 
Balancings,” “Cloud Flocks,” “Cloud Chariots,” and “The 
Angel of the Sea.” He affirms that he does not know why 
clouds float, are piled up or red at sunset. He figured out 50,- 
000 clouds in a field of sight, an immense flock to take care of. 
He says no one could draw or paint clouds but Turner. 

Shelley’s poem of “The Cloud” is as aerial as his “Sky¬ 
lark.” If you care to know what a cloud is and can do, don’t 
go to a dictionary but to his marvelous poem in which he makes 
the cloud speak. It is as if you were on a mountain peak and 
the cloud spoke to you in confidence and told you who she was 
and all the world work she had to do. 

Mrs. Browning writes of “The House of Clouds.” For 
years I have been waiting for her to invite me to her house of 
clouds built of gray cloud walls with a crimson cupola, a sunset 
chamber tapestried with showers, and a red cloud for a couch. 
I fear it would be damp with showers and that one should tread 
lightly with Mercury’s shoes on his feet. I believe this house 
of clouds is in the same block as Hawthorne’s castle in the air, 
where a very select party met, and what a wonderful party it 
was. Among those present were the Wandering Jew, the in- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


163 


corruptible patriot, a scholar without pedantry, a priest with¬ 
out worldly ambition, a beautiful woman without pride or 
coquetry, a reformer untrammeled by his theory. They dined 
on the finest viands brought from the land of Nowhere, on cold- 
potted Birds of Paradise, ice creams from the Milky Way, 
flummery from the Paradise of Fools, quaffed goblets of water 
from the fountain of youth and sipped Nepenthe and Lethe. 

For real rhapsodical poetry on clouds few lines equal these 
of Swift .* 

“Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings, 

A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings, 

That swill’d more liquor than it could contain, 

And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.” 

Do you know the fog that hangs about the entrance of 
Dickens’ “Bleak House”? Do you remember the stranger in 
Baudelaire’s prose poem who, when asked which he loved best— 
his father, mother, brother, sister, his country, beauty or gold, 
replied, “I love the clouds—the clouds that pass—yonder—the 
marvellous clouds.” Clouds, like our dreams, are brightly 
colored, but too often end in damp disappointment, darkness and 
the mist of tears. Gautier says, ‘ ‘ Love a woman—love a cloud— 
but love. ’ ’ Does he mean that she is as changing, watery, weepy, 
and has the thunder tongue of a cloud? 

The cloud is a great mountain-climber and loves to scale 
peaks. Wordsworth speaks of “trailing clouds of glory.” I re¬ 
member that when a boy I trailed after my father to the shed 
and he beat a cloud of dust out of my pants because he caught 
me making clouds of tobacco smoke. I remember some of my 
Dutch Hudson river relatives who colored their pipes and noses, 
and from long-stemmed clay pipes appeared to breathe smoke 
like fiends, wreathing the room in clouds of blue smoke, and 
from their continual puffing acted as though they had siphon 
communication with the devil. As a boy I swept the old carpets 
without wetting the broom or putting tea leaves on the floor, 
raising a cloud of dust equal to a Sahara sirocco. My vaporous 
vauntings in school essays and college oration, rose like miasmatic 
exhalations from the Roman Campagna. 

Fogs rise in the morning, and in the early dawn of history 
we find the mist of mystery and mental fog colored by rays of 


164 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


fancy. Greece and Rome were high lights that broke through. 
Then the dense cloud of ignorance in the Dark Ages settled on 
man’s mind. War clouds have always wrapped the race in a 
pall of gloom, but Peace looks for a silver lining. The world 
needs clear thinking. There has been too much of what is 
fuddled, muddled, beclouded and befogged. It is high time to 
sound the fog bell and horn and warn humanity of shoals, rocks 
and reefs, that men may not be wrecked in the mists of mys- 
tagogues and metaphysical transcendentalism. In college, we 
find the fog of the fogey; in law, the fog of pettifoggery; in re¬ 
ligion, the mystagogue of mummery, and in European politics 
the sulphur fume of Fiume. This w^orld is the Valley of the 
Shadow. In life we grope in a mist of error; in death we feel 
the mist in our face, the fog in our throat. 

About the only money a poor poet sees is the yellow gold in 
the cloud banks. He is lucky, for he always has a cloud to fall 
back on. M'ephisto usually appears in a red coat and cloud. 
Man burns clouds of incense to every god and devil in the world. 
The clouds love the mountains. The mountains are a cloud fac¬ 
tory. At Haleakala clouds resembled ships in the air, surf 
against the cliffs, soap-suds, smoke, glaciers, rivers and canyons. 
Hell is murky with cloud and smoky torment. Heaven is glori¬ 
ous with golden clouds. Clouds are moving pictures—I sup¬ 
pose the only kind Adam and Eve saw in Eden. 

Clouds! Poets apostrophize them, painters limn them, In¬ 
dians pray to them, sailors study them, the weather man keeps 
track of them. Man in general has little thought of the beauty, 
sublimity or swiftness of the clouds, but is anxious to get shelter, 
find an umbrella or rain coat to keep his ready made suit from 
becoming wet and shrunken. I have seen clouds of smoke from 
Auld Reeky’s chimney-pots; from earth’s belching volcanoes; 
from Egypt’s Sahara sand storm, and in hurricanes in the South 
Seas. Man can ruin the Alps where he isn’t satisfied unless he 
has a cog railway, puts up a hotel, billboards in a canyon, or 
litters everything with tin cans—so far he can’t contaminate the 
clouds. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


165 


DOWN AND OUT 

T last we left the House of the Sun and started down 
the gigantic staircase. “Friday” wanted her break¬ 
fast. The slope was steep and she leaned far over to 
bite a bush, while I chewed on my heart which had 
leaped into my mouth. Had I fallen off I never would have 
stopped till reaching Wailuku thirty miles away. 

Saying “Sayonara” to our Jap guide at the half way house, 
we took the car that had waited for us over night, and cruised 
down to the coast on the other side of the island. As we had 
been like so many fleas hopping over the bull-dog head shaped 
isle of Hawaii, so here we crawled like a cooty over the island 
of Maui, shaped like the bust of a woman. We zig-zagged 
through cane and pineapple plantations, some of which climbed 
to hill tops like so much shrubbery. At Haiku we stopped to 
tank up on pineapple juice and eat the fruit. The girls wore 
rubber gloves like surgeons in clinics, cutting up the pines into 
slices and bits and canning them. 

Like a map-maker’s pencil point we followed every indenta¬ 
tion of the coast line, passing fishermen standing like bronze 
statues with their nets waiting to throw over the fish when they 
swam up; through Portuguese plantation settlements and tropical 
towns where the children ran around a la Adam before the fall; 
and by a romantic ravine and inlet where we saw native women 
pounding poi in primitive style. 

“SWIPES” 

AIKU is the heart of the moonshiner’s paradise where 
I recalled Moore’s lines, ‘ 4 Oft in the stilly night. ’ ’ The 
law says prohibition is in force, but the Hawaiian is a 
heathen and law unto himself and makes his own booze. 
Not since old Bacchanalian days has there been such drunken 
hilarity. The swipe is made of hops, yeast, sugar-cane, pine 
apples and tobacco, and has as big a kick as a mule in the moon¬ 
shine districts of Kentucky. Love is not the only illicit thing 
on the island. They are progressing from the manufacture of 
near beer to okelehau and various brands of pineapple brandy. 
Moonshine “still” is with us though Barleycorn has lost his 
place in the sun. 








166 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Dirty people are often found in the stores asking for copper 
boilers, but not for laundry purposes, and inquiring for ware to 
brew trouble for themselves and government agents. The quiet 
of the Sabbath was broken by a still raid in Kula where the 
police officer captured a large lard can, a small keg, and a six- 
foot piece of pipe running through a trough. He destroyed three 
barrels of beer made from potatoes already for distilling. The 
sad thing is that the officers were nearly frozen with watching 
for the outlaws, and the stuff was not fit to drink to warm them. 
However, as years ago the U. S. custom officers were found to 
be in the opium ring at Honolulu, so here these spies and rev¬ 
enue men are quite friendly with distillers and willing to drink 
with them. When the prohibition tidal wave hit Hawaii it made 
former strangers and enemies social and friendly. People began 
to call on each other every other day and night, especially on 
those who had purchased large quantities of liquor. It was 
unlawful to set ’em up. You could not pour out a glass for 
your caller, but you could leave it on the shelf, or in the sink, 
where he could smell, see it and help himself. Some of the 
most pious hypocrites who “hated” liquor and the traffic, bought 
thousands of dollars worth of the awful curse and packed it in 
their cellars, and for other than sacramental purposes, or to 
lift a burden from the drinker. 

This is the moonshine not referred to in the folders and 
flam-boyant ads of island advertisers. 

MAUI MEANDERINGS 

FTER riding with Aiken in his Buick over roads that 
may be divided into three classes—bad, worse and worst 
—we were achin’. The names of the towns visited were 
as hard as the road—Kihei, Kalepolepo. There was a 
quicksand along one beach, but we went quickly over the sand, 
passing by sand-hills that had blown and moved across the 
isthmus like those in Peru. There are many small towns where 
natives live by cutting wood, sticking pigs and catching fish. 
Mr. Aiken is the government agent and had a pocket full of 
leases that were to be signed by these Hawaiian homesteaders. 
At times the Kanaka was in his hut, and if he were unable to 
write his name, he took x-tra pains and marked down an “x.” 






LEPER SETTLEMENT, MOLOKAI 























MOLOKAI LEPERS 




HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


167 


Others, who were afoot on the road, or horseback, or in autos, 
stopped, and for a roll-top desk, used the oil-tank of our auto 
to sign the papers. This official act was performed in the mid¬ 
dle of the road, in the sun, in a cloud of dust. What a delight¬ 
ful, unconventional way of doing business without the red-tape 
formality or delay of the metropolitan city! 

We returned by way of an old house falling into decay and 
leaning over the sea as if about to commit suicide. It looked like 
some old Ark that had landed here. Scott and Stevenson would 
have found material for a thrilling story. In the old days it 
was a trading store, now a storeroom for a Hawaiian curios and 
library. The native woman told us many interesting things. 
The only other building I saw was an Oriental fish shack. The 
active life we noticed was a kind mother pig leading her children 
down to the seashore—a maternal pigture. That night I talked 
to the Masons at the Kahului Lodge and sat down to a social 
interchange of thought and refreshment. Later Mr. Aiken in¬ 
vited us to his beautiful home and introduced us to his family of 
which he is justly proud. 

IAO VALLEY 

ARRY Gesner, the shark fisher, told us of the manners, 
customs and tastes of his sharkship. They haunt the 
waters here, love the Maui shores, and like the Parisian 
epicures during the German siege, are especially fond of 
dead horse flesh. Had I killed “ Friday ” riding up Haleakala, 
Gesner would have given us a shark cruise and hunt. Para¬ 
phrasing Carrol’s Snark poem, this is “Just the place for a 
shark the bellman cried, as he landed his crew with care.” 
Gesner called at the hotel in his blue racer and we drove like 
blue blazes to the Iao Valley, as fast as the storm that had been 
before us and had ruined much of its finest scenery. 

Leaving the car we swung across a narrow bridge, through 
a valley with pali and palisades on either side rising from 1, 
to 3000" feet, and by the tomb of a chief, where Nature the chief 
mourner, had planted wild flowers and plants, keeping them fresh 
with rain. 

Iao, the beautiful name of the valley, means “bloody,” on 
account of the dead Maui soldier bodies that were washed down 





168 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


and carried to the sea. These hills have echoed to Hawaiian 
war cries, and streams have run blood. The only brawl now is 
that of the stream. Here the chiefs, unlike Icarus, flew from 
peak to peak without falling. Nature uses just one color of 
paint, green, to decorate the valley with grass and ferns. 
Haleakala is death—this is life. Some prefer the corpse of the 
dead Haleakala to the living Kilauea. The clouds love this 
valley and meet in convention every morning about II o’clock. 
If you fail to come early you can’t get a peek of the peaks. 

The Alps have been overrun with insect tourists, not the Iao, 
for the mountain walls are too steep and of material that gener¬ 
ally crumbles to your hand and foot. Gesner is the only one 
who has scaled the Needle for many years. What sheer delight 
there is in viewing these sheer precipices! The 11 Needle” is 
300 feet high and the mountains 5,000. 

I picked my way through the valley over piles of adjectives 
let fall by delighted tourists till I came to the famous peak of 
the “Needle,” knitting up the raveled edges of a cloud. Strange 
that some advertiser has not had his eye on this Needle and 
made it a point to boost his business. The Iao Valley has been 
called a vestpocket edition of the Yosemite. With “Needle” and 
“pin” acles without number, and stuck about the scenery 
everywhere, the island is a big pin-cushion. 

Maui illustrates the phrase “sweetness and light,” with its 
cane, pineapples and House of the Sun. The spell of Maui is 
on me and I spell it this way: 

Marvelous 
Attractions 
Universally 
Interesting. 

SUGAR VS. SCHOLARSHIP 

HE mills of the gods grind slowly, but not the sugar- 
mills of men. The Baldwin owners here would think 
their heads bald to win out and make some more mil¬ 
lions. I looked over the second-largest sugar-mill in 
the world, the biggest I saw in Cuba. The head cane officials are 
in clover in their headquarters with bathing tanks, tennis courts 
and bowling alley. Pretty soft compared with the conditions of 






HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


169 


the hard-working Japs in their sun-brain-burning, back-breaking 
work in the cane fields. Here it is the man and woman with 
the hoe who make progress—not the “rakes.’’ I snapped a 
young Jap girl worker who wore a smile framed in a big 
bonnet, a white towel over her ears, chest and front, a flowered 
waist, a striped skirt, black-leggings and heavy shoes. The legs 
above her knees were bare. 

There has been some improvement since the contract convict 
labor days when men were whipped out of bed in the morning 
and lived in the most squalid conditions. The people rose up 
and demanded reforms, and now they have better homes and 
conditions, yet they are still poorly underpaid for the labor they 
perform and the money they put in the planters’ pockets. I 
saw them sweating in the fields under the sun at Kauai, work¬ 
ing harder than convicts on the road, and on Oahu we saw men 
and women huddled in the open cane cars in the pouring rain 
at six A. M. with no protection. Many Portuguese were leaving 
the plantations to go to California because of the brutal treat¬ 
ment, cursing and foul language they received from the lunas, 
the stall and store employees. But no one can strike for better 
conditions in the islands. Agitation is suppressed, agitators 
banished and labor literature, such as we have in the United 
States, is taboo. The planters are objecting to the Japs for 
demanding higher wages for doing work a white man can’t and 
won’t do. Capital is trying to inundate the islands with cheap 
Filipino labor that comes here physically and morally rotten 
and degenerate, unable to compete with the Japs. I saw Fili¬ 
pinos land at Honolulu’s Immigration station, and later saw 
many of their race in jail. 

At a sugar-mill my attention was directed to a fibrous dry 
refuse of cane called “bagasse.” It is made into a sort of 
paper and saturated with liquid asphalt. It is planned to cover 
the cane field with this mulching paper preparation. I heard of 
one sugar plantation in the Hawaii Island that was to paper 
8000 acres, like so mjany walls. This preparation chokes and 
smothers the weeds, retains the moisture, but allows the sturdy 
cane stalks to pierce through. It is estimated that the yield of 
cane will be more and the cost of labor 50 per cent less. This 
mulch paper, it is predicted, may become Hawaii’s second great¬ 
est industry. It can be made into box, board and wrapping 


170 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


paper, roofing, and by the use of chemical bleaching and certain 
mechanical processes turn out the best grade of print and book 
paper. 

What alluring inducement Hawaii may now advertise! Tour¬ 
ists will flock to the land not only of pineapples and sugar, 
but of paper-manufacture. What a new and thrilling sight to 
travel thousands of miles to witness. Pele better look to her lau¬ 
rels. Now will the output of ad. bunk be increased. Enough white 
paper has been spoiled in the past—what will the harvest be 
now ? The writers who dip their pens in phosphorous, -who write 
in aurora borealis rainbow style, who can *t say anything without 
spilling a jar of guava jelly or Poha jam all over their page, 
will receive new inspiration. Is Hawaii to be a paper kingdom 
where everyone is to have the liberty to write about the scenery 
and climate, whether he has the ability or not? Now will the 
class of writers abound who push the pen for need, fame, money, 
or to flatter the plutocrats. Now will mails be misused, post- 
office hands overworked, and ship space glutted with glowing 
and false accounts for tourist investment of time and money. 
Such exaggeration should be held up under the head of obtain¬ 
ing money under false pretenses, and be prohibited from mails 
because it is in the class of the Louisiana lottery. 

We saw a large school near Wailuku that had less efficiency 
than it should have, because the planters find it educates the 
children away from the cane, and capital more anxiously seeks 
manual than mental fitness. The Baldwin brothers own most 
of the island. Their father was a missionary, they have honored 
his memory with a beautiful memorial church, and are said to 
be very generous in their public philanthropies. 

Why look you at Wailuku?—not for the old native church, 
new buildings, or streets lined on both sides with Jap stores and 
activity, no, but for the view of Haleakala, the first thing we 
saw and the last thing to be forgotten, as it turned red at sun¬ 
set as though an active volcano. It seemed a reflection of a world 
on fire, a wall of hell burning with fire and brimstone which is 
the second death, 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


171 


LAZY LAHAINA 

AHAINA, the ancient capital of the islands, is 22 miles 
from Wailuku and reached by a winding road along a 
bluff called the “Amalfi Drive.” Our chauffeur took 
us around in 45 minutes, going faster than Eleio, swift 
runner of an old Maui chief, who raced around this island long 
ago with a dragon after him. The ride is not so dangerous at 
night because you see the flash of the auto light before turning 
the curves. My Korean driver nearly overturned the car into 
the sea when I asked him if he were a Jap. The sea and island 
views are lovely, but the road runs through and around a dusty, 
rocky quarry which suggests anything but the picturesque 
Amalfi. 

Lahaina was taking its noon nap. It usually sleeps in the 
day time and wakes at night when the inter-island boats arrive 
from 6 P. M. to 2 A. M. Mr. Freeland gave us the best in his 
Pioneer Hotel, situated by the wharf with a lighthouse in front 
so that visitors won’t walk off the pier at night. A recent fire 
had not burned him out but prohibition had put out a lot of 
fire-water in the hotel bar. Travelers who came here at the end 
of their journey were evidently of the Pantagruel class, believ¬ 
ing in the oracular utterance of the Dive Bouteille—“Trinq.” 

The weather was sizzling hot—no kitchen was needed. If 
the food had been placed on the front veranda in the afternoon 
it would have been thoroughly cooked for dinner. We sought 
a shady place in the side porch below. The sky was cloudless 
and we were just taking it easy when we received a shower bath 
from a Jap chambermaid upstairs. We saw some thrilling things 
in this old capital—a man putting on a pair of pants in front 
of the court house, and another making a public toilet of the 
main street. The most interesting inhabitant had gone—the 
dragon that lived in a deep pool on the edge of the village. It 
was worshipped by the royal family of Maui as its special 
guardian. 

The only men I saw at work were the Jap barbers who were 
both mien and women. In the many shops every chair was occu¬ 
pied—the only occupation of the townspeople. A pleasant place 
to rest and sleep and have the big flies and fleas kept off by 
small hands. L waited for twenty-minutes in one shop, telling 





172 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


the Jap he was in a hurry. When the customer left the chair 
the Jap took out a cigaret case, made a nail, took one himself, 
and sat down leisurely to smoke. The customer finally left and 
the Oriental was in no haste to work on L. I think he was well 
educated and recalled the Latin proverb, “Make haste slowly.” 

The Kanakas are indolent, say the days are too long and that 
they are too poor to work. They get up late and wait for the 
sun to go down. There is a Lahaina legend that the Lazy God 
of Maui was killed many years ago—it may be, but he has left 
many worshippers. When an Hawaiian takes a trip he takes no 
account of time or distance, stops when he gets tired, and arrives 
when God pleases. He has a princely contempt for labor. “To¬ 
morrow,” is his motto, like the “Manana” of the Latins and 
the “Boukra” of the Arabs. His superstition and indolence go 
hand in hand. 

We poked our nose into a Chinese poi factory, a two-roomed 
shed, but the wheels were still and the poi was resting in the 
tub. Out on the water front there was drilling, not of soldiers, 
but of rocks, and the diver minus his suit was lazily swimming 
in the tepid water. 

Lahaina was not always a drowsy, frowsy city of unburied 
dead. Lord Byron, unlike his cousin the great poet, sailed here 
in the “Blonde” and told the Hawaiian chiefs to suppress the 
vices that were destroying their race. This policy made trouble 
between the chiefs and the outlaw, vicious, sailor and foreign 
class. The buccaneer motto was, “There is no God this side of 
Cape Horn . 7 7 Lahaina and Honolulu were close rivals of Sodom 
and Gomorrah and veritable ocean hells on the Pacific. With 
no law, press, police or public opinion to check them, they made 
bad worse and added the shameless vice and crime of civilized 
lands. They opposed all attempts of the natives to check 
drunkenness and prostitution. The English ship “Daniel” ar¬ 
rived from London in 1825 and found things greatly changed 
>since their last visit. They threatened Mr. Richards and wife 
with death if they didn’t let down the bars and relax moral 
restrictions. Their spirit was shown in the black flag and the 
knives and pistols they carried. A year later, 1826, the same 
outlaw spirit was shown in Honolulu by the armed American 
schooner “Dolphin.” The conduct of this crew was indescrib¬ 
able. None but a Martial or Gautier could portray its de- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


173 


bauchery. There was a second outrage at Lahaina when the 
crews of several whale-ships landed, broke into the native houses 
to plunder, and threatened to massacre Mr. Richards. The na¬ 
tive women and girls were terrified and fled to the mountains 
for safety, where they hid till the ship sailed for Oahu. Nan¬ 
tucket ship owners complained to the U. S. president that their 
crews were mutinying and deserting in the Hawaiian Islands, 
which were fast becoming a nest of pirates and murderers. 100 
whale ships visited the islands every year and as many as thirty 
were in port at a time. 

I went to the Chinese quarter which had been burned and 
the owners were “surveying” their loss for rebuilding. Amer¬ 
ican halves and dollars were saved in the big box, in the new 
rough board bank that was modeled or patterned after a min¬ 
ing town saloon. I went in to exchange an American express 
note. The bank-teller spoke up from behind the barred window, 
and like a good fortune-teller said, “Hello, Morrill don’t you 
remember me when we were in the same penitentiary town of 
Anamosa, Iowa, over thirty-five years ago?” Sure enough, there 
was Mr. Lufkin who gave me his hand with the gold I had asked 
for. He recalled how I had stumbled on the word “devil” in 
my sermon, and that after the benediction I told him I knew 
all about the gentleman but couldn’t pronounce his name very 
well, though I was sure Lufkin was well acquainted with him 
and always pronounced his name readily. 

One of the Kamehamehas had a palace here which was being 
torn down. Sentimental objection was made against the sacrilege 
by some Hawaiian admirers. All sanctity had been lost, if any 
had ever been near it, for those Kanaka kings had royal good, 
“bad” times, and it had since been used as a Jap tenement and 
was an eyesore. It was literally a wood-pile now with two old 
cocoa palms over it bowing their heads as if in reverence to the 
dead past. The wrecker and junkman are the only ones who call 
here now. 

This quiet-by-day town has the movies at night. The wear 
and “tear” of the trip was such that when I was invited to play 
the new organ, and make an address in the theatre at Lahaina 
it was only possible because a kind fellow traveler, Mr. Heapy, 
a Honolulu street-car conductor, wishing to further the “pant” 
omime, loaned me his trousers. The only bar we saw was a 


174 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Charles W. Barr, who said that if I wanted any swipes after 
my mental exertion in the theatre, he knew where I could get 
them—not in any Jap dive, but in the houses of the most prom¬ 
inent citizens. 

The only night life, except busy Jap tailors, is the mosquito, 
and the “ jumping flea” which means ukelele. There were mos¬ 
quito bars in the hotel but they could not keep out the bars of 
music thrown up by two ukelele and guitar players downstairs 
who played all night. 

Up the mountain side there is a manual school for boys. Con¬ 
tractor Powell autoed us there. The boys have the finest auto 
repair shop in the islands for which the motorist should be 
thankful, for by the time he gets here his car is in ruins. We 
visited the blacksmith, carpenter and printing shop. When the 
boys are hungry they raise an appetite, not by eating pickles, 
but by working in the garden. I found a piggery, not of the 
moonshine variety. The boys were wide awake at their dormi¬ 
tory playing ball. How different from the sleeping city of 
Lahaina where it isn’t so much the influenza, they should fear, 
as the sleeping sickness. 

A seminary was established in this Lahainaluna school in 
1831 by the American Protestant mission to train young men 
for teaching and the ministry. This was the first missionary 
school of the island, and it was here that the first printing press 
was housed West of the Rockies in an old whitewashed stone 
building, with walls two feet thick, and where the first far-West 
newspaper was printed. The children have nothing to com¬ 
plain of and the only murmur is from the little stream. Above 
it all on a hilltop is the grave of an old Plawaiian who wished to 
be buried far away from all the strife that v had angered and 
annoyed his life. Like Stevenson, he lies, “Under the wide and 
starry sky.” 

A brother Episcopal clergyman, Mr. Cockcroft, shared these 
solemn thoughts with me and then provided mutual diversion by 
asking us to his pretty parish house on the beach and introducing 
us to his helpmate wife. Here I made one of the most astonishing 
discoveries on the islands—a good piano in good tune. I left it a 
wreck on the beach. 

The best thing at the hotel dinner table was Dr. Sanborn and 
wife. He was the government doctor, had been stationed at 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


175 


Molokai,. but was transferred here to combat the flu with his 
medical influence. When he heard we were going to Honolulu 
that night he said we should see Molokai first and C. Conrad, 
the island justice, who would be glad to entertain us. The only 
way to reach there was by a Jap Sampan fish-boat, which is not 
allowed to take pay for passengers, but expects you to make a 
present of $15 each way. Within an hour the doctor had wired 
his friend and received the answer that Mr. Conrad would be 
waiting for us at the port of Kamola the next morning at eight 
o’clock. It is only two hours across but the fish-boats were all 
out. Fortunately we found an old Hawaiian who had a whale¬ 
boat and the flu. He promised to have his boat ready and two 
Kanakas to man it at daybreak. 

HALF DROWNED 

E were up early at the dock. After two hours the 
whaleboat swam up with the Hawaiians on its back. 
We stepped aboard and they asked us if we had slickers. 
I said no, for the sky was clear and the stars were 
shining. Soon we sailed beyond the reef and for forty-minutes 
skirted the coast, watching the sun scale cliffs impassable to 
man. Cane smoke was rising to the sky like incense offerings 
to the gods. Then the smooth brow of the bay became wrinkled, 
and ours did too, when we looked at the channel ahead of us. 

Sometimes it is calm, not this time. The winds had kicked 
up the waves and they were foaming with pain. Our boat, 

‘ ‘ Kahului , ’ 9 bowed to King Neptune and kept kow-towing like a 
court parasite. The engineer and helmsman ducked down in the 
stern behind the little engine room. We were placed like sacrifices 
on its roof top only a few feet square, L on one side, clutching the 
lantern box, and I on the other, hanging on for my life as 
close as a miser to his money or a drowning man to a straw. 

They may have champion broncho-busters on Maui but we 
deserved medals for riding these wild sea horses without letting 
them throw us. There are no Baptists in the islands, yet if 
“much water” could make them so, they should be the largest 
denomination of all. Our course was a curse. The skipper 
never skipped a wave that came head on with smashing effect. 
In this “vast tennis court” it may have been fun for the waves, 





176 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


but too much “racket” for us. Our whale-boat imitated the 
big fish by taking a submarine route—I am spouting salt water 
yet. Our boat was called a whale boat—it should have been 
named a “flounder.” Our cockleshell craft tried to commit 
suicide several times and take us down with it, but we were 
not yet ready to suffer any “sea change,” and there is enough 
coral in these islands, as bathers know, without having our limbs 
turned into coral branches. 

Often the waves came over the boat nearly taking us with 
them. Maybe they were mermaids who fell in love with us and 
threw their azure arms around us, trying to carry us off to 
Mermaid Cavern or Tavern. Our native skipper was humorous. 
After every bad wave that broke over us he would laugh and 
say, “Look out.” The only classical quotation on my lips was 
Hamlet’s, “Drowned, drowned!” There was no justice in Nep¬ 
tune’s court. The only answer to our pleading looks and words 
was the, “Pish, pish, swish-swish” of the splashing water. 

Once upon a time there was a god in these islands who lay 
down on the ocean bed and stretched his hand out from one island 
to another that people might cross over his arm. There is no 
such accommodation now. I have read and can spout sea poetry 
by the gallon—all I could recall was Hood’s: 

“The sea. The D-! 

The terrible, horrible sea! 

The stormy, tumbling, 

Qualmy- jumbling, 

Spirit-humbling, 

Shingle-stumbling, 

Sea-weed-fumbling, 

Wearing, crumbling, 

Mischief-mumbling 
Growling, grumbling, 

Like thunder far off rumbling.” 

Now and then there was cloud, mist, rain and sunshine, oc¬ 
casionally a rainbow roamed ahead of us in the Molokai moun¬ 
tains. I am certain this was the mark they were steering by, 
for instead of bringing us into Kamola, where Conrad was wait¬ 
ing for us, with the auto, and where we had told them to take 
us, they were heading us into Pukoo—Puke 0 ! aptly named from 
the rough entrance. 



HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


177 


The mariners said with such wind and wave they were afraid 
to land us at Kamola. There was a buoy with a cross on top of 
it that resembled a Papal tiara floating in a Holy See. 

If we fell into the water we had this crumb of comfort, that 
the former name of the little harbor was “Aikanaka,” (Man- 
Eater) where long ago men were washed down and eaten by the 
sharks till the water was red. We made fast at last and gave 
thanks to Jonah’s God that we had landed from the whale-boat, 
and the Hawaiian sailors thanked us for the $15. L. and I 
were grateful enough to say, “Take, 0 boatman, thrice thy fee,” 
and glad to be on this island dreaded and shunned by most 
travelers. 


MOLOKAI 

T the end of a long narrow pier, inside the reef, we 
met an old timer, a leading citizen, a public man of gov¬ 
ernment supervision, who, although he was not officially 
informed of our coming, was in full dress to receive us, 
wearing plain clothes and in bare feet. Whittier’s blessing on 
the barefoot boy with cheek of tan could be pronounced over this 
island because it is a custom. Some of the leading Hawaiian 
families, including alleged royalty, w^alk around the house, yard 
and beach barefooted, and are not abashed when you call on them 
in their bare-legged and bare-footed condition. The official 
looked somewhat surprised, but took us to his house where he 
rested and regaled us with bananas and stories. One related 
to the channel we had just crossed in which he had been over¬ 
turned years ago and swam, floated, and treaded water for two 
days before being rescued. This is no fish story for he could 
swim like a fish as most Hawaiians. If a party of Hawaiians 
goes out in a boat for a picnic, it is half the picnic if all are ac¬ 
cidentally capsized. They seldom drown, the sea is their ele¬ 
ment. Neither he nor his family were lepers, and his many chil¬ 
dren were playing about. It is an erroneous idea to think the 
island swarms with lepers who run up and down the hills wait¬ 
ing for travelers to land, in order to throw their arms around 
them, kiss them, or bite them on the ear and give them leprosy. 

We phoned Mr. Conrad who was at the other dock, at last 
he appeared and we disappeared in his car. He has a beautiful 
home at the entrance of a pali ravine. He and his wife opened 





178 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


their hearts to us. Their doors are always open, for none 
are needed. Should it rain or grow chill at night they simply 
drop the canvas awning. We found all the happy hospitality 
the doctor had predicted. After playing a while on the piano 
I looked towards the veranda and found a donkey among my 
listeners. He stood by the door with wistful look and extended 
ear, but not for me or music—he was waiting to have his 
little master feed him his daily banana. Mrs. Conrad was of the 
handsome Hawaiian type, large, well-featured and with eyes 
described by Homer as “ ox-eyed/’ She was musical, had 
traveled in Europe, was well informed and a good conversa¬ 
tionalist. 

Her home was a museum of island curios and my bed was 
large enough for Solomon and his wives. This style and size of 
couch was a favorite among the Hawaiians in this climate be¬ 
cause of their size. I lay dow T n and rested on Queen Emma’s 
sofa couch. Easy lies the head that wears a crown here. I saw 
her big bed in another room. Don’t be shocked because I slept 
on her couch, for she has been long dead. I thought of her and 
her surroundings, and would that my pen could utter the thoughts 
that arose in me—but I shall quote the great Flaubert’s thoughts 
on a similar occasion: 

“At Chenonceaux, in Diane de Poitiers’s room, is the wide 
canopy bedstead of the royal favorite, done in red. If it be¬ 
longed to me, it would be very hard for me not to use it once in 
a while. To sleep in the bed of Diane de Poitiers, even though 
it be empty, is w T orth as much as sleeping in that of many more 
palpable realities. Moreover, has it not been said that all the 
pleasures in these things was only imagination? Then, can you 
conceive of the peculiar and historical voluptuousness, for one 
who possesses some imagination, to lay his head on the pillow that 
belonged to the mistress of Francis I and to stretch his limbs on 
her mattress? Oh, how willingly I would give all the women in 
the world for the mummy of Cleopatra! ’ ’ 

There are more of Queen Emma’s curios here than in the 
Queen Emma home museum in Honolulu, which we visited. She 
was big physically and in heart, and is chiefly remembered for 
the founding of the “Queen’s Hospital” in Honolulu, where she 
made a personal canvass for subscriptions, and for which she 
has the perennial gratitude of the Hawaiians. It was her hus- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


179 


band Kam. IY. who went on a mad drunk, in Lahaina, and shot 
and killed his private secretary, H. A. Neilson. 

It was Saturday, Dr. Sanborn had been anxious for me to 
see the leper colony and I wanted to go, not for reasons of science, 
or mere curiosity, but with the desire to visit the people Sunday 
and address them at one of their services. Judge Conrad said it 
was a good idea, that he knew the good Governor McCarthy, 
an ex-saloon keeper, and would wireless him that I was his guest 
and would ask for the necessary permission. So we started for 
the wireless station at Kaunakaikai, fifteen miles distant. We 
saw old fish ponds that are used to this day. They are wall 
corrals built out into the sea from the land, with an opening 
for the fish to enter, as if it were like a large stone net. 

These ponds looked like scollops or the fringe on a table- 
cloth. Strange poaching tales are told of night raids and of men 
disappearing and never being heard of again. We passed several 
churches hid in cocoa groves, where Father Damien had preached. 
Macadam roads may appeal to some in the islands, but this dusty 
road took my fancy, for it ran along the shore, crossed dry, 
rocky stream beds, threaded a great cocoanut grove planted by 
one of the Kamehamehas, and brushed through thickets and 
forests of algaroba trees which to me, a poor mathematician, fur¬ 
nished a more engaging study than algebra. These trees give 
fuel, food, and sweets for bees. Turning the curve of the island 
we escaped from the wind that had tracked us since leaving 
Lahaina. There were men afoot and women on horseback. Here 
the children use horses and not “ponies” at school, riding double. 
There are no wild animals to make your hair bristle—all the 
bristling is done by hogs. There is no poison ivy, but there was 
a poison wood that grew here in the time of Kam. the Great, 
from which he hewed a poison god and called him Kalai-pahoa. 
It was an ugly, roughly carved thing, one of Kam’s favorites, and 
always within handy calls and reach. Knockout drops could be 
made of it. One piece of this tree fell into a spring and made 
a brew so rank that all died who drank. This sounds like a 
German well-poisoning trick. 

Mr. Conrad pointed out old battle-fields up in the hills where 
natives retreated like a Villa and threw stones down on the 
attackers. Another form of amusement for the Kanakas was 
a disc-rolling field for quoit t s, bowling or baseball, ground here 


180 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


one house is a village and two make a city. They looked like 
negro shacks in Georgia, and are surrounded by taro patches. 
One wonders why so many swelter, slave and sin in Honolulu 
city tenements when there are such possibilities here. 

Honey is one of the exports of this island. No matter how 
lazy the natives may be, the bees are busy and the product of 
their labor is sweet. On one island they appear to be ignorant 
of the pure food law and put sugar-cane glucose in their honey. 
There is a world of bees as of men, quite as intelligent Maeter¬ 
linck thinks, and more industrious. There were many bee hives in 
the forests, each swarming like a public city office building. I 
thought Lucian was right when he represented Charon as saying 
that cities were like so many hives of bees, “wherein everyone 
had a sting, and they did little else then sting one another, some 
domineering like hornets bigger than the rest, some like filching 
wasps, others as drones/ ’ 

The wireless station at last, far from humanity’s reach, ex¬ 
cept for that little machine and spark that put the operator in 
touch with Lahaina, Honolulu and the world. Who was the 
operator? An old man buried alive here where the days are as 
like as two peas? No, a young ambitious man and his light 
house-keeper, his wife. We soon heard the voice of a talking- 
machine, not of phonograph rag-time records, but the electric 
voice of the wireless between three worlds of sky, earth and sea. 
Happy operator, with sources of inward pleasure the crowds 
never knew, who could talk with a machine, his wife, or to the 
garrulous sea! 

I spoiled a five-dollar bill to say a few words, while he may 
while away lonely hours chatting with fellow operators for noth¬ 
ing. This solitary soul could be like Daudet in the lighthouse 
of the Sanguinnaires, Corsica, when his being escaped him; 
when he didn’t think or dre^m; when he became the gull that 
plunged into the sea, the spray that floated in the sunlight be¬ 
tween two waves; the white smoke of a steamer rapidly disappear¬ 
ing; the little coral boat with red sail; the drop of water, the fleck 
of mist—anything except himself. Here were hours of half 
slumber and mental dispersion. I wish Sienkiewicz had written 
a story about this operator of Molokai, as he did about the 
Lighthouse Keeper at Aspinwall. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


181 


One day Conrad took ns around the other side of the island to 
Halawa, on a road that hangs over the sea, plays hide and seek 
with it, and then goes up a steep grade like a fly on a wall, 
twisting like a boy with the green-apple colic, and turning as 
many times as a Cairo muscle-dancer. Down below we watched 
the dance and whirl of the waves and could hear the swish of 
their white silvery, spangly skirts. There was a rock out from 
shore that would make a good place for a shipwreck and an in¬ 
viting inlet with several homes where time stood still. The auto 
does some narrow gauge running within a few inches from the 
cliff side, reminding us that there is only a step between us and 
death. From the top we looked down at Halawa in the valley, 
with the ocean at one end and a waterfall at the other. It fairly 
took our breath away so that we could not shriek our delight 
as we wished to. Had it not been for Conrad’s careful driving 
there would have been some other falls besides waterfalls. Much 
of the scenery in the other islands, which the Ad Club boosts, 
is mediocre and monotonous compared with the reputation they 
give it. Of this, one of the finest drives in all the group, they 
say nothing, advising tourists to spend hundreds of dollars for 
sights far inferior. Why? Because the island is tabu. They 
want the attention and the money, and if they could put all the 
lepers present and future on Molokai, they would be glad to sink 
it out of sight and speech. 

What we first took to be a contest of some sort, proved to be 
a poi-pounding party of two Kanakas, who were eagerly watched 
by their friends and families, anticipating the good times they 
were to have at the table when they stuck their fingers in it. 
It is the staff of life, but to those who dislike it, poi is poison. 
It was a most primitive Hawaiian place, with little life, yet the 
inhabitants are the best choral singers in all the islands and take 
the musical prizes from the other church choirs. 

Across a bridge swinging like a spider web in the wind, we 
took our way, then stumbled and splashed through taro patches, 
and passed an old deserted house embowered with wild roses. 
There is a weird wood here. Legend makes it tabu and sacred, 
but our guide was a safe leader. From the open we tramped 
through the thicket until we entered the darksome cathedral, 
with leafy roof, python-shaped trunks and branches for inter¬ 
lacing pillars. It was an enchanted forest. We escaped and 


182 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


were not anxious to get lost like the gentle knight of Spenser’s 
“Faery Queene” who wandered to and fro in the forest, could 
not find the path and came on the den of Error, a monster 
vile. 

Halawa is hidden in the hills and has few visitors, but Death 
had recently come and taken a little child whom he had fallen in 
love with. 

Death is the world’s greatest traveler. We meet him every¬ 
where. He was in the West Indies before Columbus—we cannot 
go where he has not been or will not come sooner or later. He 
may stop at the finest hotel in New York or the rudest hut at 
Halawa. We may not have received a call from him yet, but he 
has our country, city and home address, and phone number, and 
may drop in any second—we should be prepared to receive him. 

We left this valley of the shadow land for the sunlit slope 
and were back in time to stand in C.’s lanai and look over a field 
of green and a sea of blue to Maui’s high hills that seemed like 
El Dorado in the golden sunset. 

If Judge Conrad didn’t care to go far away to church there 
was a heathen temple five-minutes’ walk from his house. I was 
nearly sacrificed trying to climb over it during a small cloud¬ 
burst. I was wet as water could make me, and quite in the mood 
of a heathen worshipper. 

We called on an Hawaiian who had been one of King 
Kalakaua’s chief hula dancers, and had hulaed herself across the 
States. She was making fans for herself to cool the memories 
of former years, or for tourists and others who had seen the hula 
properly and tropically presented. 

MORAL AND PHYSICAL LEPERS 

SPENT Sunday at the precipice overlooking the leper 
colony of Kalaupapa, and as I saw the churches, and 
the people going to and fro, I prayed heaven’s bless¬ 
ing on them. My head and heart ached for these 
sad captives doomed to a living death, rotting away in a prison 
island, their fingers sloughing off, hair crawling iike serpents 
and faces growing like toadskins. God pity them in their gar¬ 
den of Gethsemane grief—about the only way out is the gate 
to the cemetery. 






A LEPROUS PRIEST 












































HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


183 


My wired request to the Governor of Hawaii, for permis¬ 
sion to go in among the lepers, was refused by the Board of 
Health, although some politicians, religious proselyters, inves¬ 
tigating committees, junketing parties, personal friends of offi¬ 
cials, pleasure-seekers and panders have entered with and 
without permits. But alas, I was not in their class! 

There are moral as well as physical lepers on the island, 
and if only a fraction of what I learned is true, the “rottenness” 
Hamlet found in Denmark was an American beauty rose in 
comparison. 

One of the afflicted women who has lived in this lepers’ 
lazar-house, this home of Dante’s lost souls, for 30 years, wrote 
a letter to a'Honolulu newspaper, while I was there, stating 
that they were not given proper care and treatment under the 
Territorial Administration. She said that, although the doc¬ 
tors claim, leprosy is a contagious disease, non-lepers live, eat 
and sleep with those that are declared to be lepers, some of 
whom are frightful to look at, yet the non-lepers never get the 
disease, and today some of them are still living in the settle¬ 
ment as non-lepers, just as clean and healthy as any living out¬ 
side the settlement. She further declared that some sent to 
Molokai have crippled hands and weak ankles “which honest 
doctors call gout,” and some show no visible signs of the dis¬ 
ease; that most of the people who were discharged as non¬ 
lepers never took treatment, and were discharged with the 
same symptoms with w r hich they were brought there. 

She blamed the doctors for not curing the curable diseases, 
saying it was not pleasant to suffer from rheumatic and neural¬ 
gic pains, to be troubled with catarrh of nose and throat, mak¬ 
ing it difficult to breathe, and to have ulcers grow over their 
eyes, making them blind. 

Graft, mismanagement, immorality and politics have been 
the curse of Molokai. Even the superintendent of the colony 
told the visiting legislators recently that many improvements 
were needed; that they had been living on half rations due to 
lack of transportation facilities; that the boys in the Baldwin 
home in the settlement had to walk six miles to see the moving 
picture that showed once a week; that the lepers who labored 
only received 50 cents a day; and that there were dreary and 
filthy conditions in the home for girls. The Catholic Home for 


184 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Girls, run by the sisters, had no water for four days previous 
to the coming of the legislators. Water, as should be known, 
is almost essential for leprous patients for bathing. Imagine the 
danger from disease when there is no water to flush toilets, 
etc. The miserable pittance of a yearly allowance of $12 com¬ 
pels those who have but one dress to wait for it to dry after 
being washed, and frequently they had to don it before it is 
fully dry, which often causes sickness. 

The Federal Leperatorium, built in 1909 at the cost of 
$150,000, has lain idle all these days, except for a period of 
6 months when 12 patients were taken in. It is gradually fall¬ 
ing into decay. Although there are magnificent water power 
facilities for making electricity, the colony is forced to use 
oil lamps at a great fire risk. The superintendent said it was 
a wonder the colony had not burned down, and called attention 
to the old and totally blind lepers, many of whom have lost 
their fingers or hands by the ravages of the disease, or whose 
hands are drawn and paralyzed. Two people were burned to 
death recently from using these oil lamps. A lighting system 
could be installed, it has been estimated, for about $600. 

It has been the policy of many in the islands to close their 
eyes when it comes to moral laxities among the lepers. It is 
common for men and women at Molokai, who have non-leprous 
wives and husbands in the other islands, to be found living 
together. Not long ago the superintendent of the leper receiv¬ 
ing station at Kalihi was dismissed on account of the whole¬ 
sale immorality prevailing there, when several male patients 
spent the evening with female patients in their rooms. While 
I was in Molokai it was charged that high officials of the set¬ 
tlement decoyed young girls for immoral purposes at the girls’ 
home in the colony, and that one official was living in adultery 
with a woman near the settlement. Investigation disclosed 
that 36 married lepers were living more or less openly with 
a man or woman not his or her lawful spouse. 

From 1911 to 1917, 105 children have been born in the col¬ 
ony. The^ taxes the Hawaiian people pay for the children’s 
attendance, by nurses in hospitals to see if they develop lep¬ 
rosy, are enormous. Leading government physicians have 
proclaimed that the only way to stop the increase in leprosy 
is by segregation or sterilization. Yet when this was broached 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


185 


to the lepers at Kalaupapa, and they came to realize that seri¬ 
ous efforts were being made to enforce sterilization and to 
segregate, they declared they would fling themselves into the 
sea or court death by attempting to scale the steep cliffs around 
their natural prison. Since segregation would result in open 
revolt, sentimental legislators have left the lepers to their 
promiscuous cohabitation. 

Children born of leprous parents are taken to a home in 
the settlement, and at the age of one year are sent to the 
Kapiolani Home in Honolulu. About six per cent of these chil¬ 
dren are lepers. 

The detection and detention of lepers at large in the islands 
is not as strict as it should be. There is a considerable num¬ 
ber in and around Honolulu who should be interned. 

Recent statistics show that since the colony was established 
in 1867, a total of 6,642 lepers have been admitted, and of this 
number 6,241 were Hawaiian or part Hawaiian. The number 
of lepers there no^y is 618, or about 700 including the clean 
helpers or kokuas. 

The lepers love to go on a jag. Who can blame them for 
trying to drown their souls and sorrow! Dives in his torment 
asked for a drop of water to cool bis parched tongue. These 
poor victims, in the hell of their daily life, are satisfied with 
nothing less than ‘ * swipes, ’ ’ that pluck from their memory their 
rooted sorrow, and is the sweet oblivious antidote to “cleanse 
the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon the 
heart.” 

At the foot of the leper precipice there was once a heiau 
where the shark-god lived and was worshipped—the people 
kept away from it. This place is shunned as much because of 
the lepers. Deer here make the best hunting in the islands 
and we noticed several deerslayers with guns over their shoul¬ 
ders. 

When we first looked over the pali at the settlement, Na¬ 
ture sought to hide her sore spots by a veil of mist from the 
sea. Waiting until it drew away we saw the wonderful pan¬ 
orama of a place which the doctor had complimented as much 
safer to be in than many other places in the island. A zig-zag 
path stretches dowm v to the beach, curiously spelling the Me 


186 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


and V of the superintendent’s name, a name that permits him 
and his friends free passage. There is no fence to keep the 
lepers from climbing and getting away. But what’s the use! 
Which way they fly is hell, themselves hell, shunned by all, 
and when rearrested they are forced to return to their prison. 

I had a pair of strong glasses and saw the victims down 
below walking around just as people might Sunday afternoon 
in any small New England town. Men wore fancy suits and 
white tennis shoes, the women colored dresses, and the groups 
looked like flower gardens. There were moving autos and 
boys and girls were walking together. I noticed a woman 
working in her garden, and worshippers going to and from 
church. We heard the Angelus bell whose tones were carried 
up on the arms of the air. 

The lighthouse at the end of the point is one of the largest 
in the islands. It guides the big ’Frisco ships, telling them to 
keep far away for this is the leper settlement. It stands tall 
and white like some funeral monument in this city of the liv¬ 
ing dead. We could see the little cemetery by the coast where 
the stricken are at rest, and enviously looked at by those who 
sigh and cry, “0 wretched man that I ami, who shall deliver 
me from the body of this death!” At the landing wharf we 
could see the gang, that bridge of sighs; the officials’ houses; 
the bandstand where rag-time can not drown out the thoughts 
of Chopin’s funeral march; a movie theatre to show them all 
the world’s a stage from which they are excluded; hospitals 
with music of moans and a burden of woe echoed by Poe, 

“I dwelt alone 
In a world of moan 
And my soul was a stagnant tide.” 

There were churches, where no matter how tainted their 
bodies might be, there was a hospital for their souls with the 
Divine Physician, so that the morally tainted might be healed. 
Their taro fields were spread before us; more of them could 
and should be cultivated, but it is the policy of the settlement 
to send way off to Honolulu for stuff, paying the highest prices, 
or to get it from some local family at the top figure, instead 
ef from deserving Bawaiians on the island. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


187 


Father Joseph Damien’s church and grave are here. He 
lived and worked among the lepers. He was a Belgian priest 
who came to Hawaii in 1873 as minister, doctor, teacher, cook, 
gardener, sexton and grave-digger. After twelve years he be¬ 
came afflicted with leprosy and worked till his death in 1889. 
There is a fierce controversy as to how he contracted the dis¬ 
ease. I was told on this island of Molokai that it resulted from 
unspiritual attention to some women of his parish. Doctor 
Hyde, a distinguished Presbyterian clergyman of Honolulu, 
wrote a private letter to his brother in the East which did not 
flatter the “filthy” holy father. This letter was published 
without the author’s authority and Robert Louis Stevenson 
came back in an open letter which took the hide off Rev. Hyde. 
R. L. S. uncorked a bottle of literary vitriol. This invective 
broke the poor minister’s heart. People* who know, say R. L. 
was on the wrong track. When it comes to severe criticisms 
on people’s characters none are above reproach, including Ste¬ 
venson himself. I learned from people in Honolulu, who were 
there when R. L. was, that he wrote under the influence of 
dope and drugs, and that one time he apologized to some 
women he had made an appointment with and forgotten, under 
the influence of the drug, and discourteously refused to re¬ 
ceive them. I have been in Apia, Samoa, where he lived, and 
conversed with some there who said Stevenson stirred up strife 
among the native chiefs and was responsible for their death; 
that some of his books were burned; that his private life and 
morals did not warrant his picking up stones and throwing 
them at the glass houses of other people. 

We saw the beauty of the settlement without being able 
to see the horrible ravages of the disease, which can petrify 
as though Medusa looked you in the eye. Later at Honolulu 
I saw official photos of lepers who had been sent here. Jack 
London made a visit to the colony once and described their 
looks. I have seen lepers in Jerusalem, Asia Minor and the 
Orient, and his description is not exaggerated. He tells of 
their gnarled and twisted fingers, leonine faces, yawning space 
in a face where there should have been a nose, and arm stump 
showing where a hand had rotted off. On them had been 
placed the mark of the beast. When they talked their lips 
made uncouth noises and their throats rasped. They were hu- 


188 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


man monsters and human caricatures. Their hands were like 
harpy claws, their faces crushed and bruised as if by some 
mad god at play. Here and there were features half smeared 
away. One woman wept scalding tears from twin pits of hor¬ 
ror where her eyes had once been. Coughing made sounds like 
the tearing of tissues. They mowed and gibbered like huge 
apes, marred in the making, until even an ape was an angel. 
They seemed to be creatures that had been racked in milleni- 
ums of hell. Lidless eyes burned under hairless brows, swollen 
ears flapped down on their shoulders. 

From many glowing accounts I expected to see the streets 
of this stricken city littered with sloughed-off leper toes, fin¬ 
gers, feet and hands, and a nearby disinfectant and drying 
factory where they were made up into alluring souvenirs to be 
shipped over the world for tourist curio-hunters and museums 
—something after the style of the ^ake antique mummy hand 
and foot factories in Karnak, Egypt. It was Sunday, perhaps 
the white-wings had finished their street cleaning Saturday 
and were taking their Sunday snooze. Kalaupapa was a spot¬ 
less town, if one may say that of a leprous settlement. 

As I left the lepers, Gorky’s “Creatures that Once were 
Men,” flashed into mind, and I gave them a parting blessing. 

GOOD-BYE! 

T isn’t an easy thing to leave Molokai although you 
may be no leper, for you must bargain for a boat. 
As there was none at Pukoo, our whale-boat having 
returned two days before, we drove down to Kamola 
where we found a Jap sampan glad to take us and our $15. 
You can’t cross unless you come across. The start was auspi¬ 
cious. Through some misunderstanding of the signal, our rud¬ 
der was smashed on the coral reef. The teeth of reefs tear 
the boats as the shark’s teeth tear you if you fall in. After 
more manoeuvering we turned about and struck another reef. 
The profanity of four languages, English, Jap, Chinese and 
Hawaiian, rent the air, and the natives on shore must have 
thought a storm was coming for they rushed down waving 
their arms like windmills and calling us to come back. We 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


189 


came back, patched the rudder, secured an engineer who could 
understand the captain’s signals, and with a running jump 
started to hurdle the breakers. 

Heroic deeds go unheralded here. We passed a buoy that 
could tell a tale if one could understand it. One night, not 
long ago, a sampan was caught out here in a squall racing 
through the channel. The men were afraid of being blown on 
land, and the captain ordered one of his crew, a Russian, to 
jump overboard and fasten the boat to the buoy. Before he 
would make it fast, the boat was blown away, and the Rus¬ 
sian grabbed hold of the buoy. Although there was a terrible 
sea running, one of the crew, knowing the Russian could not 
swim, instead of leaving him to drown, leaped off and swam 
to Kamola to get help. He reached the town, roused the peo¬ 
ple, and although it was almost certain destruction for a boat 
to go through the reef in a storm, these Hawaiians bravely 
ran the boat through the breakers, rescued the Russian as he 
was feebly hanging on, and brought him safe to shore. These 
men received no headlines in the papers or medals of honor 
that I know of, but I am sure that they had the bravery of heroes 
in first-line trenches. 

Our sampan was larger than the whale-boat and we were kept 
from constant ducking by tarpaulins stretched along the side. 
For an hour we lay in the bottom of the sampan, caring little 
whether we went up or down. If they had a tip in advance, 
few saints would be brave enough to do penance by sailing 
across this channel in such a shell. We were not yet destined 
to sleep in an ocean bed, and that night slept in the bunk of 
Mauna Kea, opening our eyes in Honolulu harbor next 
morning. 

BUFFETING THE BILLOWS 

HE trip to Kauai is made over one of the worst chan¬ 
nels and in the worst boat imaginable. The “Kinau,” 
a small and smelly ship, welcomed us as we crossed 
the gang with an orgy of odors. Waiting to get un¬ 
der way we saw some naked sailors in the bow, bathing under 
difficulties and under deck. They knew the trip and were 
doubtless preparing for decent burial. Soon we pulled out 






190 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


and descended into the lower regions of the boat for dinner. 
Our meal was accommpanied by the music of the coughers and 
spitters in the staterooms on either side of the table. Captain 
Gregory sat at the head of the table and was the one redeem¬ 
ing feature of the boat. He deserved better things. I cannot 
imagine what crime he has committed to be punished with such 
a position. After a visit to his cabin where he jolted us with 
some good stories, we said goodnight. Now the boat bowed 
low, rolled on her sides and stood on her hind sea-legs. The 
passengers were sick, scared or both, and spent the time on 
their knees praying to heaven, or over the rail cursing the 
ship company. 

I turned in—my berth was nearly v the death of me. Some 
of the boats have a placard over the bunk kindly requesting 
passengers to remove shoes before retiring! Is it because they 
are seasick or drunk, or want to kick the steward? I took 
mine off so I might swim the more easily when the boat upset, 
as it threatened to do. A drummer and his friends told me it 
was not unusual for the waves to smash in the cabins opening 
on deck and carry away your baggage. 

According to the universal custom we arrived too early in 
the morning for breakfast. Nawiliwili is a nasty harbor with a 
bad swell. In real rough weather the boat bumps on the rocky 
bottom of the harbor. What Kauai needs, more than anything 
else, is a good harbor. 


WAIMEA CANYON 

OLLOW a Pacific shower and it leads to Nawiliwili, 
the picturesque port where we disembarked. I made 
the discovery that the natives of the island are web¬ 
footed. To paint this rainy isle one should use water 
colors and frame the picture in a rainbow. 

When Captain Cook arrived off Kauai in 1778 the natives 
wanted nails and pieces of iron; he must have accommodated 
them, for on docking we found several well made automobiles. 
Choosing the best, our Portuguese chauffeur started to show 
us the much vaunted beauties of this isle. The sky was red 
over the jagged hills of the harbor as if Aurora had cut her 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


191 


feet walking over them. The road wound through beautiful 
scenery of rice and cane fields, the clouds lifted and gave 
glorious glimpses, and as we rose our spirits rose and we were 
prepared to see the famed Waimea canyon. But we nearly 
missed it for our auto path was blocked with a broken cane 
flume. Across this we ran into wet clay but finally got out. 
Climbing higher we saw the ocean and the island of Niihau 
where splendid mats are made. I heard this island was ruled 
despotically by a boss who gives orders who shall visit it and 
what the natives must do who are there. He must have them 
kahunaed. 

We bumped the bumps, bouncing from one place to another 
like an auto going up stone steps, and jumped out, not so much 
from delight at views, as because we were thrown up, there 
was no choice. At last the canyon was reached. It is about 
two and one-half miles wide, and I studied its anatomy of 
rock ribs and backbones. ’Tis a green and not a grand canyon, 
with ridges and ravines, and quite foolish to compare it with 
the Grand Canyon of Arizona in size or color. One might as 
well compare an apple or a peach, a water or an oil color, the 
mountain or the ocean. The Waimea Canyon is just itself. 
The Creator is so great He is never compelled to duplicate his 
masterpieces. I liked the beauty of the cracks, wrinkles and 
age of the canyon, just as I admire the character wrinkles on 
a good old woman’s face. We gaped at the gap. This moun¬ 
tain watershed seems to have sprung a leak for water was run¬ 
ning everywhere. The water gushes like the folders and tour¬ 
ists who attempt to describe it. The cliffs were beribboned 
with waterfalls. 

It’s a great health resort. After the rough roads one feels 
like a wreck and invalid and is astonished not to find a collec¬ 
tion of sanitariums scattered about. Should sugar from Cuba 
be admitted free to the U. S., and Hawaiian sugar take a slump, 
I would not marvel to find in a few years that the money¬ 
making cane men had turned Kauai into a paradise. How 
beautiful it will be then when the T. B. traveler arrives, to 
cough and read sign boards and electric signs announcing cures 
for human ills—a panacea painted on every precipice. 

This is the playground for tourists and demigods. As the 
dwarfs played nine-pins along the Hudson, so the demigods 


192 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


played marbles here, but it wasn’t marble season and I missed 
them. We noticed a big bird floating down in the abysm, per¬ 
haps it was the demigod Mano who, whenever he saw a girl 
he liked, turned into a bird, grabbed her and carried her off to 
his cave. It was unhealthy to contradict or oppose him, for 
he had the bad habit of killing those he ran off with. We saw 
many small waterfalls and are sorry we had so little time to 
visit the one with the big name, for we should have missed the 
boat ere spelling it to the driver * 4 Ehaehaekamanuekanealo- 
hikealemaineikawai. ” There is a sacred lake and altar up here 
too, where it is said that anciently and even now, Hawaiians 
climb to offer sacrifices. 

Kauai was once densely populated, but now all one sees 
is dense growth of trees and bushes. The Canyon is an excel¬ 
lent place to break your journey, or your neck, as surely you 
will do unless you are careful. We were loath to leave and 
regretted we had no eyes in the back of our head. The hidden 
beauty and mystery of these mountains and ravines, dismal 
and abysmal, is only revealed to goats and geological sur¬ 
veyors. 

We reached the city of Waimea with our appetites. Here 
Captain Cook landed in search of a watering place; now drum¬ 
mers and the wise come in quest of native rum made in swipe 
factories. I was intoxicated with the island scenery; some of 
the people I met were full of okelehau; even the mountain 
peaks were on a “jag”; the ocean sands “barked” when you 
walked over them; and the “horn” blowhole spouted on the 
beach. 

BARKING SANDS AND BLOWHOLE 

HE Barking Sands are at one end of the island. We 
knew of sands and shores where we had barked our 
shins, or embarked or disembarked, and had been 
assured that if we turned somersaults down the sand 
dune the sand would bark like a pack of hounds. This is 
slightly exaggerated—the island plan is to make every duck 
a swan. I climbed up and played with the sands like a child 
on the seashore, then I slid down. The sands refuse to bark 
if wet, or if dry—because they don’t bark, simply make a sort 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


193 


of pull-your-toe-out-of-tlie-niud sound. A theory to account 
for the noise is that the compression of the air between the 
angular particles of the sand creates this sound. Natives say 
the “uhanes,” or spirits of their dead ancestors, do this to show 
their displeasure at being disturbed. If this be so, I’m sorry 
I was so sacrilegious—peace to their sandy ashes. A dachshund 
would be ashamed to make a sound like this and call it a bark. 
The phenomenon is also found at Oahu. 

The blowhole, or spouting horn, is on the rocky beach, and 
is caused by the rush of the wave underneath that is forced 
up through a natural aperture. It shoots like a geyser, rises 
like a plume of spray and spouts like the whale trademark of 
Massolt’s gingerale. It’s a fine shower bath if you go near— 
a fisherman once tried it, fell in and drowned. European gar¬ 
dens have artificial rock fountains where the water is turned 
on at certain days or festivals, we were fortunate to be in this 
natural park and have this ocean fountain play for us. 

A THRILLING TRIP 

AN lives not by bread alone but by sugar-cane—no 
w r ater no cane, so the capitalist looked up the moun¬ 
tain canyon, saw the water and said, “We’ll ditch 
it.” Our new eight-cylinder car was expensive and 
beautiful, but the ditch trail road up the Olokele canyon is 
very narrow, it makes so many turns that the driver first 
phoned to see whether the road was clear since there is no 
place where two cars can pass. Had it rained the road would 
have been impassably slippery. There is no stone wall to keep 
a car from going over, and the road is made to slant, to shed 
water. One looks down hundreds of feet over the edge of this 
path, and the hills beneath resemble mounds of the dead who 
have fallen over. When our car turned a rocky corner the 
people on the back seat saw the fender hanging over the 
precipice. It was a heart-palpitating ride. Even the blase 
traveler of the Yosemite, the Arizona, the Yellowstone and 
Apache trails, would certainly sit up and take notice. I told 
my chauffeur Gomez I didn’t come here to die, he smiled and 
said nothing. One chauffeur had recently lost his nerve mak¬ 
ing the climb, and they were compelled to phone for another 




194 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


man to come up and get him. I spoke to inhabitants who had 
lived on the island for twenty years, and they said they would 
only trust their feet to make that trail. We saw no peasants, 
but many pheasants that are good hunting. Gomez related 
how he had driven up here one night with a police posse to 
find the body of an Hawaiian hunter who had tumbled over 
a cliff and been killed. If you care to know what thrills we 
experienced, go down the Arizona Grand Canyon trail in a 
flivver. 

The Olokele canyon is narrow, winding, and like the Wai- 
mea gives vistas of gulches, streams and waterfalls of foliage. 
In olden times leper hunting was a great sport in these hills, 
the lepers refusing to go to the Molokai prison. I talked with 
a man in Honolulu who had lived here when the government 
tried to catch the lepers. The lepers said the white man stole 
their land, imported the Chinese coolies to work it, who gave 
them the 4 ‘Chinese sickness,” or leprosy. They declared it 
wasn’t just to do this and then throw them into the Molokai 
prison for life—so they fought,- some were killed and some 
were caught. 

The canyon drive is so thrilling that it would make the 
hair of the wig of a bald-headed man stand on end. These 
dizzy cliffs produce miore heart flutter than Cupid’s arrows. 
However, with a good day, car and driver you may take a 
chance to go up and come back. Really, there is less accident 
and fatality than on our level city streets. At last we reached 
the Ditch house, looked all around, took one deep breath and 
held it all the way back again over the trail. Let people say 
what they may—the Olokele ride is more exciting than any 
moving picture. 

LIFE AMONG THE HAWAIIANS 

AUAI has the legend of Pikoi, a famous rat-killer, 
not poison or trap, but a hero who went hunting with 
a bow and arrow, as celebrated in Hawaiian song as 
Homer’s battle between the frogs and mice. The 
modern hero is a mosquito-killer. Saul slew this thousands—you 
may slay your tens of thousands. The cannibal chief who vis- 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


195 


ited this island long ago was not as bloodthirsty as the mos¬ 
quito. These cannibals surely can nibble. When one detach¬ 
ment was tired, another came up to relieve and assist. Lihue 
is the island’s headquarters for them. They drink so much 
blood and are so phlebotomical, that, like the Chasuta Indians, 
if we stayed here long enough we should be forced to kill them 
on our body and eat them with the idea of restoring the blood 
abstracted. The traveler to Kauai is welcome, not simply by 
the hotel and garage man, but by the mosquito whose bill is as 
big as theirs combined. 

In cataloguing the blessings of life in the Hawaiian para¬ 
dise, one must not forget to mention the centipede and scor¬ 
pion who have not yet been domesticated. Their race is “down¬ 
trodden” like the Hawaiian. 

Every dog has his day, and every cat its night in Honolulu 
—it needs all its nine lives, for cat-killing is one of the city’s 
night sports. But there is one thing that leads a charmed life, 
a pet to be found in every house—the spider. Don’t be sur¬ 
prised to find you are not alone and he has disturbed your 
privacy. He is a privileged character and a guest who never 
outstays his welcome. Although he looks it, he is not an evil 
genius in the household, spying on your every act, but rather 
your good friend who protects you against moth, insect and 
cockroach. He is found in the lowly fisherman’s cottage and 
in the palace of the kings, illustrating the Scripture, “The 
spider taketh hold with her hands and is in king’s palaces.” 
These spiders are not the size of a coffee or lima bean, but 
Brobdingnagian and Gargantuan. They may not have quite the 
dimensions of those in the moon, which, according to Lucian, 
the Syrian Greek satirist, are each as big as one of the islands 
of the Cyclades, still they would scare many a modern Miss 
Muffet who sat on a tuffet. As a thing of beauty, the spider 
is not a joy forever, but with the horse and cow should be 
classed as a useful animal. He has a mission, minds his own 
business, and it is our business to let him alone. In history his 
ancestors saved the Scottish warrior Bruce by spinning a cob¬ 
web chain across his cave which kept his enemies out. Byron 
says that Bonnivard made a lasting friendship with the spiders 
in his cell—you may learn to love them too, if you are impris¬ 
oned long enough in the islands, 


196 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


The islands have carnival processions once a year, but 
there is a perennial parade—the cohorts of cockroaches who 
have big encampments everywhere. They march over floors 
and walls and promenade over your person. I have watched 
them on the listening outposts—of the bed, or reconnoitring 
by the dresser, and planning to make a flank attack on me. 
The cockroach army is very brave in the dark, but the flash 
of a light puts him to flight. His raids are generally directed 
against the kitchen or commissary. 

Among the most malignant back-biters are the fleas. This 
animated animal is always on the jump, and for long-distance 
leaping has the world record, in fact, he easily hopped over 
the island^ immigration bars and today is active in all society 
circles. Many of the Kanakas spend their time in pursuit of 
him and happiness. They have this tradition about his first 
visit to their shores: Many years ago an Hawaiian girl from 
Waimea went out to a ship to see her lover, and as she was 
about to return, he gave , her a bottle, saying that there was 
very valuable property in it, but that she mustn’t open it on 
any account until she reached the shore. As soon as she gained 
the beach, she eagerly uncorked the bottle to examine her 
treasure, but nothing was to be discovered—the fleas hopped 
out and have gone on hopping and biting ever since. Such is 
the legend of the Hawaiian Pandora, teaching the lesson to 
beware of the bottle. The flea has been celebrated in literature 
from Ovid’s flea and Shakespeare’s “Fleance,” to Pindar’s 
“Elegy to the fleas of Teneriffe” but you know all about 
him, reader, especially if you are a traveler. In the Oriental sec¬ 
tion of Honolulu I saw a man take an electric needle and tattoo 
different designs on the bodies of some soldiers. It is unneces¬ 
sary for you to spend your money this way, the flea, without 
any charge, will work quietly at night and decorate you with 
elaborate patterns. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


197 


COVERING KAUAI 

HEN Captain Cook first discovered the island of 
Kauai there was a chief who boasted himself to be 
a professional thief and that plunder was his liveli¬ 
hood. Caught stealing, he was killed. Today his 
memory is honored by hotel-keepers here who do the same 
thing without fear of punishment. You get poor room, poor 
fare and nearly every item on the menu stands for indigestion. 
Magazines are three years old and you are charged Waldorf 
Astoria prices for wretched accommodations. In the early 
history of Kauai the natives of Oahu sailed over here, stole 
all they could lay their hands on, and carried away the women. 
Now you come from Oahu and are met with the danger of auto 
and hotel brigands, and the girls steal away your heart— 
though it must be admitted that Hawaiian women are not usu¬ 
ally handsome in feature, for Venus has given her girdle of 
fascination to few. 

While crossing the island some men rushed out and told 
our chauffeur to stop, which we readily did, for if they w r ere 
bandits there was little left to give them. They proved to be 
quarantine health inspectors determined to see whether we 
wei;e trying to smuggle in flu germs. They permitted us to 
pass because we were transients. The plague was virulent. 
The day before we drove through stricken towns with hospi¬ 
tals full and death rate large. Our boat brought a number of 
emergency nurses for rush calls. Perhaps if people would take 
the prescription of a grain of common sense daily, they would 
not be so apt to .succumb to flu or any other ill. 

The ride offers little tropical scenery until you enter the 
valley of Hanalei with its river, and rice-fields resembling a 
checker-board. Kauai seems but little Hawaiian, much less so 
than the other islands. Japs and Chinks have Orientalized it. 
which explains the number of rice-fields. 

In this valley I met a friend whom I had not seen since I 
had been in Philippine islands five years ago. He looked happy 
and healthy, enjoyed the climate and had come here with his 
family to live. He was the water-buffalo, the mud-splashing, 
slow-plodding, rice-field ploughing buffalo, with whom every¬ 
thing is well till he runs amuck in the muck. 





198 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


STARVED 

T the foot of a shark-finned hill we left the auto, 
walked along a beach and entered a wood. Ahead 
of us gaped a great cave, and the echo roar of the 
ocean sounded like some monsters in it. We entered 
this fish mouth cave of Haena. There was no dragon there to 
kill us, our flashlights simply revealed broad, arching roofs 
whence trickled drops of water, and great arched rooms where 
giants could live. It is now a cattle corral and was once a 
huge prison of starvation. Years ago an army was shut in here 
by their enemies who closed the cave entrance and starved 
them to death. One man discovered an opening in the roof of 
the cave, escaped and sought aid. When he returned he found 
all his companions dead within, and the enemy outside having 
a savage orgy. Can you imagine this horror in the dark cave ? 
Did they go mad, laugh like demons, roll in fits, tear and eat 
each other? If you want a horribly vivid idea of an army 
starving to death, read Flaubert’s “Salammbo,” where the 
victims’ eyes were dilated,- black circles went round the eyes 
to the lower parts of the ears; bluish noses stood out between 
hollow cheeks; the skin of the body was too large for the 
muscles; the lips were glued to yellow teeth; and all the while 
they exhaled an infectious odor. They might have been taken 
for living tombs, open sepulchres. 

There were no souvenir shin-bones, so we crawled back 
through the thickets without fear of being affectionately em¬ 
braced by a serpent, kissed by a rattlesnake or caressed by a 
jaguar, for the only savage animal and beast of prey in the 
islands is man. We rested at an Hawaiian mat-maker’s home. 
The woman made the mats and spoke English. She was inter¬ 
ested and laughed so heartily that her husband insisted she 
should translate the conversation, then he laughed and I had 
the laugh on him. 






WEAVING MATS, HANALEI, KAUAI 









ON THE BEACH AT WAIKIKI 








HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


199 


CLIMATE CRANKS 

HE blue bay, the yellow half-moon of sandy beach, 
the green hills holding their heads high, furnished 
a restful picture for tired eyes. The ocean seemed so 
jealous in its rivalry with the sky that it turned 
green with envy. Hanalei is a fine site for a Castle of Indol¬ 
ence or a castle in the air. 

The Hawaiian islanders regard their climate as sacred and 
anyone as wicked or criminal who criticizes it. Had it been 
possible, they would have given Adam and Eve a folder when 
they left Paradise, to come to their islands. Once upon a time 
the natives threw lighted torches at night in these mountain 
ravines, making wonderful displays. This pales into insignifi¬ 
cance when compared with modern writers and their pyrotech¬ 
nic pens, fireworks of style and golden rain of words so dazz¬ 
ling that you close your eyes so as not to be blinded like Paul 
on the way to Damascus. 

One thinks these places Elysian fields of happy and long- 
lived blessedness—for a while. But living here shows sorrow, 
cursing and undertakers. In all this pleasure-loving place, pain 
has entered and the dentist is prosperous. The best story is 
a brief one. Who knows but that even the angels are affected 
with ennui. 

A side drive to a waterfall gave a delightful impression of 
this garden isle, and we hurried to find “Kinau” waiting to 
give us another chance to die a watery death. Eluding a 
traffic policeman, whose arduous duty it is to be on his beat 
two hours on boat days, we reached the wharf and boat. She 
pulled out and rolled again from side to side, but not more so 
than a party of drummers who had made funnels of themselves 
for okelehau. They sang, danced and went into their state¬ 
rooms for more, accompanied by one of the ship officers to see 
that the law against drinking swipes was strictly obeyed. One 
of the boys took pity on me, gave me a taste of it, and offered 
me a receipt that I might be able to make all I wanted for my¬ 
self and friends. I have lost it or would gladly give it to you, 
dear reader, if I were sure you would not violate the recent gov- 






200 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


ernmient law prohibiting the manufacture of booze. We reached 
Honolulu Sunday morning with sincere thanks to heaven for 
protection against the dangers of deep mountains and deep sea. 

JAIL-BIRDS 

N company with Mr. Dranga and a “new thought’’ 
lady lecturino, we visited the Honolulu pen with its 
exclusive society. We had not been discovered doing 
anything that entitled us to come. However, one can 
never tell what may happen, so we went with the mixed mo¬ 
tives of curiosity and the wish to help others less fortunate 
than ourselves, at least we thought they were. The instant 
the warden saw us, the key was turned, the iron door swung 
open, for there was no question of the fitness of our coming 
in, though there might be of our going out. 

It is a popular institution. There was a good number pres¬ 
ent of all races and fqr as many different crimes—every cast 
of countenance, but not many downcast. The crimes varied 
from drunks to murder. Some of the boys were washing 
clothes and others playinjg basket-ball. There was a long dor¬ 
mitory corridor where they could dream of happy days gone 
by. They are not taught trades, a serious mistake, for a man 
will do you unless he has something special to do for himself. 

The large chapel upstairs was decorated in blue, doubtless 
to cheer the prisoners. There was an old piano. Dranga asked 
me to lead the boys in “sweet land of liberty.” I suppose they 
could have sung the bars of music, but the bars on the win¬ 
dows were too ironic. I played something else, and then we 
all sang hymns. In their songs they vied with Paul and Silas 
in prison music. They sang with more voice and volume than 
I had heard in any church in the islands. The one who sang 
most sweetly and divinely was a young Filipino murderer. I 
spoke to them, telling them I was glad to see so many of them 
here—that is, who were willing to come and attend the service; 
that I knew of others in Honolulu who should be present, in 
fact, that we were all sinners and that God was merciful; that 
natives were thrust into jail who stole a chicken or a pine¬ 
apple, by whites who had stolen the whole islands. Perhaps 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


201 


the prisoners were simply trying to reclaim their own, for 
many whites came over in a spirit that asked the Kanakas to 
fold their hands, close their eyes and pray, while in the mean¬ 
time they preyed on huts, took the calabashes and everything 
else in sight. They came not for their good but for their goods. 
The natives got religion, but the whites got their real estate. 
If the missionaries came to save their souls, their sons took 
their soil. Yea, verily, is it not so known and talked about, 
though not written in the books, reports and daily papers? 

Then rose the “new thought” lady, saying she disliked the 
word “sinner” I had used and made the startling statement 
that, “we are all perfect.” “Yes,” she added, looking at men 
who had broken every commandment to bits, “you are per¬ 
fect—complete divinity reigns within you.” I was sure I was 
not in that class and ought to retire, but she said qualifyingly, 
“I mean there is a perfect ideal of character in every soul, 
and we are to work on it until it is accomplished.” Dranga 
made a few “compromising” remarks to reconcile our different 
estimates, and since we were not there to make the place one 
of inquisition torture, we stopped speaking with their thanks. 

A prisoner asked my advice about going to Buenos Aires, 
South America, when he was free. I told him to let well 
enough alone and not go from bad to worse. Anxious for in¬ 
formation on the jail conditions, I asked the guard a number 
of leading questions. He had heard my speech, was evidently 
suspicious, answered a few queries, and closed the interview 
by referring me to the warden. 

We left this institution of learning, to be good or bad, with 
hopes for speedy improvement in new thought “perfection” 
and wishing that the boys would soon graduate, for the prison 
is small compared with the waiting list of those who should be 
in. We left these young men behind the prison walls, and 
walked forth into the free world of hypocrisy and knavery, 
the nursery of villainy, school of giddiness, and academy of 
vice. 


202 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


THE MADHOUSE 

HE madhouse encloses some but not all the crazy folks. 
Stepping off the street-car by an Hawaiian church 
on Asylum Avenue, we followed the road lined with 
cottages, and opening on lanes of ill fame. I know 
many other cities with Asylum Avenues. 

The guard permitted us to enter the little gate. At the 
office we met a son of Norway who piloted us around. The 
first person to greet us was a cursing German woman w r ho, with 
howling frenzy, hurled broken English at us. There were pest- 
stricken Ophelias huddled on the grass, gurgling snatches of 
love-songs. A Portuguese with fantastic flowers in her hair 
andi the light of hell reflected in her eyes, tripped up to us 
humming sonnets from the Portuguese. Another Bedlamite 
thrust out a skinny, scurvy hand asking for money. Troops 
of women issued from the dining room, half-bald, disheveled, 
barefooted, in holokus, and crossed the lawn in motley march. 
One girl was imprisoned in a large wooden chair reserved for 
wild women. We saw them eating, mouthing, munching, slob¬ 
bering like dogs with not a knife between them. Some were 
sitting under the trees crocheting corset covers, or making lace 
with two pins for needles, and knitting better with these hat¬ 
pins than some of their sober, sane sisters with knitting- 
needles. 

In a pavilion I saw an idiot child gamboling about, while 
in the center on a raised bench, sat a sad-eyed, moonstruck 
monomaniac making the floor damp with her tears. Others 
lounged in a sort of delirious daze, or rocked to and fro as if 
possessed by evil spirits. 

We entered kitchens, bakeries, dormitories, laundries, lava¬ 
tories. Walking through the men’s quarters, a man stepped 
swiftly by us as if a fiend pursued him. Like Crabbe’s mad¬ 
house “Sir Eustace Grey,” demons were his guides and fol¬ 
lowed him awake or asleep. There were Koreans, Japs, Ha- 
waifans, Filipinos and a black, blind, old South Sea islander 
sitting on the ground with his legs crossed like a Buddha, with 
face towards the sun. A man with a queer hat. on came hop¬ 
ping by and barking like a dog. Many were the wretched men 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


203 


with red eyes and vacant stares, crawling on the porch or 
sprawling on the grass. One maniac was an Italian with mar¬ 
tial mien and act. Pointing to a crucifix in his belt he unrolled 
a scribbled scroll. I saluted him with, “Viva La Italia/’ and 
this brought him to a stand and salute, after which he fol¬ 
lowed me until I left the grounds. Some were playing ball, 
others looking on with stupefied despair. There was a Jap 
making a square on the ground in which he stood looking 
straight into the face of the sun, then he muttered some words 
and moved away to repeat the prayer. Mad, perhaps, but not 
so mad as those who never pray at all. 

This receptacle of mental refuse is full. Mr. Schwallie, the 
superintendent, begged me not to compare it with any similar 
institution in the United States. Means were so limited he 
couldn’t tell how soon the inmates would be starved to death. 
Spme of the buildings were gloomy, stenchful, worm-eaten and 
rickety, fitter for animals than men. There is a sad lack of 
necessary help, and most of the guards and nurses have not 
passed civil service examinations. As Johnson said to Bos¬ 
well, “This is a dolorous place.” 

The charge was openly made that the inmates were treated 
like animals and left out in the rain, victims with sores were 
compelled to sleep on bare floors without blankets, mattresses 
or pillows. Dean Swift left his estate to idiots—it’s time some 
rich islander followed the example. In Turkey mad men are 
held as saints; the Indians of Ecuador treat them with cruelty; 
in Hawaii some are put in the pupule madhouse, while others 
are elected to the Legislature, for it is their fault that more 
liberal appropriations are not made for the support and main¬ 
tenance of this institution. We saw some idiots leering as we 
departed, but they were not poetic madmen like King Lear. 
While waiting, the auto patrol whirled in with a mad man. 
Since it was a long walk back to the car line, we thanked the 
superintendent and guide for their kindness and asked the 
patrol wagon driver to give us a lift over the long, hot dusty road. 
He was a bit surprised, but said yes. In we jumped and the 
official car pulled out of this place, leaving this orchestra of 
shrieks, mutterings, groans and barkings behind—this horrible 
hospital of diseased minds, the loathsome dunghill of outcast 
humanity. 


204 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


AROUND OAHU 

HE Oahu railroad is an educational moving picture 
71 miles long. You get the most for your money of 
anything in the islands. We passed pineapple can¬ 
neries whose history makes a sweet and juicy story 
in world-wide demand. The pineapple fruit looks like an in¬ 
fernal machine, a bushy-haired bolshevist, and in the field like 
sprouted dragon’s teeth—like everything except what it is in¬ 
side—sweet and nutritious. 

Pearl Harbor is where our warships are to float like ducks 
in a pond. We drove around, saw the magazines explosive as 
an anarchist weekly, and wireless enough to talk to Lincoln or 
George Washington in heaven. This Pearl Harbor is not with¬ 
out price. Like the Panama Canal, its expense seems endless 
—but what care we! Here is the dry dock that recently went 
to smash, Hawaiians say, because it was built in the shark- 
god’s home. It was being drained and some workmen were 
looking for a shark said to have been caught in the caisson 
gate. The natives, ever superstitious, who live outside the 
naval reservation, prayed, offered up a sacrifice of a fat pig 
and white chicken, to jolly up the shark-god who was naturally 
angry at this government invasion of his immemQrial right. 
With Diamond Head guns and searchlights, Pearl Harbor boats, 
thousands of khaki-clad soldiers at Schofield barracks. Uncle 
Sam can go to bed at night without fear of shark-gods or 
yellow perils. 

The train takes us now by cane plantations. If you have 
a cavity in your sweet tooth, come here, be your own dentist 
and fill it. The next stop was Sisal. Shades of sunny sisal we 
had seen in Mexico and Yucatan. I wonder the dismal failure 
we saw did not force the planter to gather the few stalks and 
braid them into a rope with which to hang himself. 

We passed Nanakuli which has been recommended as a 
location for a new insane asylum. A good idea, I thought, 
when I read a silly magazine story that had its plot in this spot 
—its author should be sent here for treatment. 

The train turned the corner of the island which has been 
cornered by capital, and we looked out beyond the rocky beach 







HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


205 


where whales once a year spout, flip their tails and do the hula 
hula. Haleiwa is a week-end resort where fagged-out fashion 
rests by dancing, flirting, boating, and overseeing the coral 
gardens. 


HELL’S PREPARATORY SCHOOL 

HE Boys’ Reform School was next passed. It is 65 
miles from Honolulu and 10,000 from humanity. Re¬ 
cently one of the inmates tried to escape this insular 
hell by swimming across the channel to the island of 
Kauai. One must go back to ancient history to duplicate the 
dungeon system and punishment used here. It became so in¬ 
famous that the governor of the islands abolished the cells 
just before we left Honolulu. Conditions were unthinkable 
and unprintable. It was a deformatory, not a reformatory. 
Half-starved, the boys sneaked out into the garden, stole a 
few potatoes, and were whipped and thrown into the dun¬ 
geons as criminals. At night conditions were foul—no mos¬ 
quito nets above their beds, and vermin and bugs beneath, 
according to the report of the investigating committee. Often 
boys of tender years were thrown in with older, hardened 
criminals. I talked with one of the investigators who revealed 
a moral stafe of affairs that would have been blue-penciled by 
the Sodom and Gomorrah Gazette. The entire board of regents 
resigned to avoid being fired. Among these highgrade over¬ 
seers was a Roman Catholic priest and a prominent society 
woman of the same faith. This is nothing unusual, the “Let 
George do it” methods prevail. 

Committees are selected, not for efficiency, but for social 
and political reasons. Conditions in the reformatory are not 
surprising when even a court judge in Honolulu, who evi¬ 
dently is not familiar with the Bible’s or Shakespeare’s defini¬ 
tion of charity, orders boys to be lashed and flogged as punish¬ 
ment to fit the crime of some minor offense. Yet the official 
folder of the Information Bureau says this school for boys is 
a “model institution.” Yes", the devil could come here and get 
a hint for improving his prisons in hell. In his “Prison Re¬ 
form,” Oscar Wilde aptly says, “But to make even these re- 





206 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


forms effectual much has to be done. The most difficult task 
is to humanize the governors of prisons, to civilize the wardens, 
and to Christianize the chaplains.” It is not the prisoners 
who need reformation so much, as it is the prisons. The curse 
of our alleged reformatory institutions is their stupidity, 
graft, cruelty and officialism;. 

Our train ran through a forest of Marconi wireless—wires 
thick and many as sticks of macaroni in Italy. During the 
war this station had been dismantled for a cause some Baker 
or Public Misinformation Bureau doubtless assigned. 

A MORMON COLONY 

T Kahuku we changed cars for the Mormon railway, 
and while waiting for the train we had plenty of 
rice at a Japanese restaurant and water in buckets- 
ful from the sky. Before the Mormons bought this 
branch railway, the connections were prompt—now you wait 
any time from an hour to a week, for it is used for cane serv¬ 
ice, and the literary railroad commissioner would rather Hall 
Caine than passengers. The creak of the rusty wheels in the 
we\ jungle announced the arrival of a toy locomotive, some 
empty cane cars, and a black passenger caboose that resembled 
a small coffin on wheels. We sat like the dead in it for a half 
hour, when it suddenly began to move, but in the wrong direc¬ 
tion. Looking for the why of this whither, we saw the locomo¬ 
tive power was Hawaiian. I asked the man if he intended to 
push us to the next station; he looked at me and left. Another 
wait, the car roof leaking like a sieve. At last when the bare¬ 
footed baggage-man, who had managed to light his cigaret be- # 
tween showers, hitched us up, we started off with more motion 
from side to side than forward. At the station I had tried to 
purchase tickets, but none were sold for this train. Now I 
saw why. The man who had been train-coupler and baggage¬ 
man was conductor. He came in, no tickets were necessary, he 
just told what we were to pay and put the money in his pocket. 
What a convenient system—for the conductor. From the 
amount, he evidently charged us for the time the train waited 
on the sidetrack. The half-dozen Hawaiians in the car were 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


207 


treated the same way. He may have been the president of the 
road, and only took what was coming to him. 

Laie, the Mormon settlement, was eventually reached. How 
long will Mormonism, here and elsewhere in the U. S., last 
before there is a settlement and judgment at the bar of public 
opinion? This section of the island is famed as the birthplace 
of Kamapuaa, the hog-god who was an expert at thieving and 
killing. I think “hog” is a good word for the Mormon idea 
of money and morals, and his killing record is no more mal¬ 
odorous than that of this sainty church, of latter-day and 
night depredations, which takes money from poor parishion¬ 
ers, and whose Utah record is made up of Mountain Meadow 
massacre, robbery and murder. 

As we arrived at the station a bevy of school girls appeared 
to meet us we thought, but they simply broke off pieces of 
sugar-cane in the cars to eat. 

We made purchases in the Mormon store conducted on the 
Salt Lake City plan, very fresh to a Gentile, for everyone is 
ground between the millstones of the Co-operative stores and 
societies. We saw the school buildings and various grades 
where the ignorance and credulity of the children is being ex¬ 
ploited. In one room there were pictures of Christ and Per¬ 
shing. I couldn’t imagine why the world’s Redeemer was 
there, but I did know that General Pershing was one of the 
Mormon patron saints. He it was who was sent by President 
Wilson to the Casas Grande Valley, settled by the Mormons, 
where instead of going to “get Villa,” and bringing him home 
dead or alive, he protected the Mormons from a Villa raid— 
Mormons who had fled from the U. S. for polygamous prac¬ 
tices. The price paid for the governmient protection of these 
Mormon outlaws was the solid Mormon vote of Utah, Wyom¬ 
ing, Idaho and California for Woodrow Wilson. This put him 
in the White House, and not the so-called progressiveness of 
the West. 

We walked up to the house of the head of the Mormon 
settlement to find him out. He is accused of having five wives, 
though this was stoutly denied by a native Hawaiian Mormon 
who said that he only had three. If so, this possibly accounted 
for his absence. 


208 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Then we meandered over to the new, unfinished temple, 
the largest this side of Utah. I photographed it and for this 
unpardonable sin and heinous crime, a man came wildly run¬ 
ning from the village, made frantic gestures, said the grounds 
were tabu, and ordered us away from the temple. We stood 
not long on the order of our going, but went. Such was pur 
warm reception and welcome—just what non-Mormons may 
be expected to receive. We saw an advertised dance, for 
dancing is an article of the Mormon faith, the teachers were 
pretty and that’s a matter of practice. 

Two of these teachers were in a Mormon school attempting 
to teach some Hawaiian children how to sing and dance. As 
well educate a duck to swim; the scholars should have taught 
the teachers. 

The money that these seraglio-hunters, lustful, lucre-loving 
Mormons paid for this section of the island, is not publicly 
known. The public was hoodwinked about the deal, and the 
price paid for city, cane-fields and railroad was doubtless the 
price, as in Hood’s day of “Gold, gold, price of many a crime 
untold.” 


PROFANE FALLS 

JAP chauffeur drove us to Hauula, the starting point 
for the Sacred Falls. The wood hotel is not fireproof 
but mosquito proof, that is, the bedrooms, for when 
we sat out on the unscreened veranda to enjoy the 
moon, each of us had a small package of incense burning at 
our feet like so many gods in a heathen temple. The meals 
were tasty, what there was of them, the pianola was old and 
played out, and the library indicated this was a resort, for in 
easy reach were “Poenls of Passion” and “Three Weeks,” 
mild suggestions of what the visitor might expect. 

At night we went to the bathing beach. Twas poetic, the 
stars were .like drops of sweat on the black brow of Negro 
night. The bath houses were full of moonshine. Instead of 
seeing hundreds on the beach we found only a few in the water 
—a few boats. 

Next morning bright and early we began our pilgrimage 
to the Sacred Falls, walked the narrow gauge cane-track ties 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


209 


for a mile and lost the trail in the cane fields. We might have 
ridden here on a cane train which was creeping up behind us. 
A Filipino family, thinking us fools because we couldn’t find 
the trail, began to shout and beckon us to get off the track, 
though they saw we were looking at the approaching train 
all the time. Njot wishing to derail the engine, we leisurely 
stepped off the track. There is a beautiful scripture, “A lit¬ 
tle child shall lead them.” A cute Filipino kid watched us, 
and his mother watched him to see what we intended to do 
with him. We made her understand we wished to see the 
Sacred Falls and were anxious to have her boy guide us. For 
a small piece of money he led, and we tagged on through dense 
cane to a large reservoir pipe where he pointed out the gen¬ 
eral direction we were to take. Wise boy, he knew what trials 
were before us and skipped back home. 

Heaven’s gentle dew was of a quality not strained. It had 
fallen down in bucketsful during the night and we stumbled 
and waded through high wet grass that soaked us from heel 
to waist. We were not the only jackasses on this trail; there 
were others who eyed us with compassion, and one lifted up 
his braying voice and w r ept—the sight was too much for him. 

Of course one could wear a rubber suit, but he would miss 
the morning bath. There was a narrow yellow path of sticky 
mud that would have delighted the heart of a water-buffalo. 
A stream comes down this valley hitting stones and boulders 
all the way. The man who mapped out its course had no 
regard for the tourist who is compelled to cross and recross 
it until he gets provoked. Mercury held a caduceus in one 
hand, I outdid him with my umbrella by balancing on foot 
in mid-stream. No toe-dancer or chorus girl could equal me. 
Like a fat fairy I flitted from rock to rock across the stream, 
slipping, tearing my clothes and skinning my shins. 

The valley grew dark, narrow and gorge-like. Sacred Falls! 
Sacred nothing! My falls suggested every profane word in 
every language I had heard ’round the world. With every 
step I denounced Sir Isaac Newton, who discovered the law 
of gravitation. The way to the falls is walled in by perpen¬ 
dicular cliffs that are hanging gardens of greenery. To keep 
them from toppling on their head, the credulous natives, even 
to this day, make offerings of leaves to the gods. We passed 


210 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


hundreds of them that are kept in place by small stones. L. 
and I made no gifts and erected no altars. L. knocked over 
every offering in his way, yet this iconoclasm brought nothing 
down on our heads, it only disturbed the centipedes sleeping 
beneath. I 

The peculiar formation of this Kaliuwaa Valley is due to 
the hog-god who rubbed his back against the rocks and let 
his servants and followers use his bristles as ladder rungs 
to climb to the top of the cliff. He dammed up the water of 
this stream by throwing his body across it, and is not the only 
one who had “damned” it. When the warriors came to catch 
him he broke the dam by leaping away from the waters, and 
a great flood drowned them. At the top of the falls is a canoe¬ 
shaped rock, if you see it that way. We saw the falls, and 
wliat a fall there was, my countrymen! Two hours later two 
shattered, spattered, battered specimens dragged their wet, 
weary feet up the hotel steps. Asked what sort of a time we 
had, we declined to express it in the presence of ladies. When 
I partially recovered and my mind could run on one cylinder 
at least, my thoughts reverted again to the advertising com¬ 
mittee, who, with fair folder words of enticements, had led 
us innocents abroad to a roughing it experience we could never 
forget or forgive. The Tourist Bureau and Mountain Trail 
Club should “put up” better facilities and roads for this and 
other places in the islands, or “shut up” in their misleading 
ads. 


AD LIBBYTUM 

UR party toured the rest of the island by auto, looked 
over Waimanalo plantation and came back by the Pali. 
The vistas of rock, sea and bay make a gallery of beau¬ 
tiful art pictures. One need not go to Kauai to find 
mountain peaks, seashore and garden scenery. Facilities should 
be made accessible to all Hawaiians at cheap rates. 

By good road we scaled the Pali and were rewarded with 
a splendid view of Libby’s pineapple fields with his name 
spelled in large fruit letters. Great man, great name! Doubt¬ 
less the Creator made all this sublime and seraphic scenery 
here just for a background for his pineapples, a frame for his 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


211 


name. Advertising signs were recently torn down on the road 
to the Volcano House by indignant residents who thought the 
surroundings were sacred to Pele. Libby’s ad. is different, 
but an insulted Providence who sent a worm to gnaw Jonah’s 
gourd vine, could do the same here ad Libbytum. Can a man 
think of the “beauty that was Greece and the grandeur that 
was Rome,” with a cigaret sign on the Parthenon and a chi- 
anti wine ad. painted on the Coliseum? Here it is a trifle diffi¬ 
cult to concentrate on Hawaiian history and how Kam. I. 
drove his enemies over the Pali, and they went down to heroic 
death. 

JAPANIZED HAWAII. 

F you care to visit Japan it is unnecessary to go further 
than Honolulu. The Hawaiian islands are half-way to 
the Orient, not only geographically, but racially, relig¬ 
iously, mentally and commercially. Direct your next 
letter to Honolulu, Japan, and I’ll wager 100 to 1 it will arrive 
O.K. At the present rate it will not be long before everything 
is Japanized except the flag-pole, and according to some, it will 
not be many years before the “rising sun” will blaze over 
that. Hawaii’s population is mostly Asiatic, and over 60 per 
cent are Japs. There are 22,000 Chinks, 20,000 Filipinos, 5,000 
Koreans and 16,000 whites, including the Porto Ricans, Portu¬ 
guese and Spaniards of Southern Europe. 

The islands constitute a Japanese colony of Mikado-wor¬ 
shippers. Whether it is the tea-houses (where the proprietors 
explained to us that the geisha girls were not for sale as in 
Japan), the geisha girls, the theatres, hotels, restaurants, gym¬ 
nasiums, kite-flying sports, temples, newspapers, schools, stores 
and food and clothes imported from Japan, the sentiment is 
“Banzai Nippon.” I entered their temples and found many 
of their Buddhist faith at enmity with our American institu¬ 
tions. I saw sword fencing exhibitions and wrestling, and wit¬ 
nessed a Jap play with imported actors from Tokyo; went 
to several Jap movie picture houses; ate with chop sticks a 
full course dinner such as I had eaten in Japan; entered their 
stores and listened to graphophone records made in Tokyo; 
rummaged through their bookstores where there was nothing 





212 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


but Jap literature, and talked with hotel proprietors whose 
hotel-rooms were partitioned mostly with cloth, not paper, as 
in Japan. 

I have seen men and women bathing together nude in pub¬ 
lic baths in Japan. This custom has been followed at times 
in the plantation camps in the islands. At the Jap public 
baths in Honolulu we saw Jap women door-keepers mildly 
looking on at stark naked men in the baths. They may not 
have the Oriental YoshiwaraJ but since the red-light district 
was abolished here because of riots started by a troop of 
U. S. negro soldiers, many of the Jap women now have chil¬ 
dren with no legal husbands. Tokyo has its slums, here the 
Japs have tenements congested and filthy, infected with T. Bs., 
with half-naked and half-dressed children and women on daily 
and nightly exhibition. 

The Japanese have monopolized the fish trade with their 
sampans and cold storage, holding up the supply and price 
until many Hawaiians, whose food is fish and poi, have suf¬ 
fered greatly. I saw Japanese “picture brides” come off the 
Jap liners and trundled in auto-trucks to the Immigration 
building where they were fumigated and examined prepara¬ 
tory to meeting their husbands. Kichard Halsey, the immi¬ 
gration agent, a former Chicago Baptist Theological Seminary 
classmate of mine, introduced me to a bright young Jap girl 
who had been sent home previously for eye trouble, but was 
now back again and able to look out for herself. 

Many of these picture brides come here, not so much to 
work in the cane-fields, as to raise large families that their 
numbers and influence may outweigh all other nationalities. 
Here we saw a„ Korean deported for being a moral pervert 
and procurer. He was a white-slave runner for Korean girls. 

I am not saying the Hawaiians, PTlipinos or whites are any 
better than some of the Japanese—in fact, some of them may 
be worse, I am just telling you what I saw. The Japs are 
tireless workers in the cane-field or city. Whether men or 
women they work day and night. They do the work of the 
island and will so long as other races can’t or won’t work. 
They are the live-wires—act as servants, cooks and gardeners 
in most of the homes, and do more and better work than any 
other help. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


213 


The Japs protested in the public press at the passage of 
bills to regulate their language schools and to put them under 
the jurisdiction of public instruction. Teachers in these 
schools are ignorant of the English language and American 
ideals. It is contended that this controversy was started by 
a leader of a small Japanese sect with the hope of closing the 
schools of a rival religious Japanese doctrine. Hawaiian-born 
Japs look for the day when they shall become American citi¬ 
zens and have control of the electorate. Many Japs come to 
Hawaii, and when they become citizens go over to ’Frisco. 
Japan’s treatment of Korea has been Kaiseristic, and we fur¬ 
ther, their game of suppressing news of Korean atrocities. I 
stood at the wharf when the “ Shiny o Maru” came in, and 
saw U. S. custom officials search the pockets of passengers 
arriving from the Orient to see whether they carried any 
letters not censored by Japs for mailing. Why should our 
government try and keep Americans from knowing what 
Japan or anyone else in the Orient is doing? Is it a part of 
the keep-in-the-dark policy of the European peace table ? 
Washington hacl just sent out word to Hawaii to put on the 
soft pedal on Japanese news, and in the U. S. to muzzle the 
press on anything true concerning the Japanese-Korean em- 
broglio in the Orient. This looks like Russia before the revo¬ 
lution, and it is this truth-stifling that fills and fires revolu¬ 
tionary bombs. Permit the constitutional rights of Amer¬ 
icans to be trampled on, and justice to be outraged, as it has 
been in the last three years, and a repetition of the French 
Revolution will not be an impossibility. 

Japan is anxious to gobble up the Sandwich islands. She 
is using Hawaii as a stepping-stone to the Golden Gate of 
California. 

It begins to look as though the boast of a drunken Jap¬ 
anese naval officer would be, realized who said, some years ago, 
that Nippon would take the islands from the “inside.” Jap 
school children openly boast that Japan can lick the United 
States and take the islands. Their national flower over the 
school entrance shows loyalty to Japan. Coming over to labor 
in the plantations, they soon leave them, demanding higher 
wages and take to the cities, where they crowd out the whites 
and native population. 


214 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Hawaii, Uncle Sam’s sugar-bowl, is being overrun with 
‘ ‘ anti ’ ’-Americans. 

An old Hawaiian told me that the whites had stolen the 
islands from them, and she would be glad to have the Japs 
take them from us. 

Lack of immigration restriction is making Uncle Sam pro¬ 
fanely say, “Oh God, the heathen have come into thine inheri¬ 
tance.” 

Hawaii’s garden is fast becoming a garbage heap of 
Orientalism. 


CHINESE ATROCITIES. 

HE euphonious river, “Stinking Waters,” divides the 
whites from the yellows in Honolulu. As I stood by 
its banks one night I heard a noise like a fire-alarm— 
it was only a Chinese theatre two blocks away. En¬ 
tering the theatre, I thought it would be a good plan for patrons 
to receive a fistful of cotton wadding for their ears—the noise 
was like an army in conflict. The house was segregated, the 
women upstairs and the men down. It is not like the Amer¬ 
ican showhouse where you may court through all the scenes. 
Here you have to throw a kiss to your sweetheart. I have 
heard of people sleeping in thunder storms, and of a general 
snoring through cannonading of battle, but it is no. more re¬ 
markable than to see the Chinese children in the balcony 
asleep in their mothers’ laps. 

One’s attention is divided between the stage and John 
Chinaman spectator, who comes in, sits down, takes off his 
slippers, hangs his legs over the chair in front of him, or folds 
them up like a jack-knife blade beneath him, pulls out a 
cigaret and enjoys himself. As a sign of good manners he 
keeps his hat on. 

The. most important personage on the stage was the prop¬ 
erty man. There was no curtain and the actor never knew 
when he would walk in front of him to shift a chair or lay 
a carpet. In and out he showed the greatest contempt for all 
but himself, acting as if his was the main part, and the players 
hindered him in their performance from doing his duty. A 
jazz band is Hades, but a Chinese orchestra-! It was on the 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


215 


stage, and I believe was largely accountable for the queer con¬ 
duct of the actors. There were drums, cymbals, gongs, fiddles 
of every size, shape and sound. The plot seemed like an opium 
dream dramatized. It was anything but dull; there were 
dragons, brigands, enchanters and murderers to keep up the 
interest. The actors squeaked, shrieked up in their nose, 
wriggled, wiggled and jiggled, threw epileptic fits, killed some 
one or committed suicide, all to music that would make a 
marble statue put its fingers in its ears. The players wrangled 
and strangled each other to the jangle of the orchestra. The 
walls of Jericho fell down to the trumpeting of Joshua—I 
expected these theatre walls would fall down any second on 
our heads. Hell would not be complete with its instruments 
of torture, unless it included a Chinese band. I am sure there 
is no “celestial” music like this in heaven. 

The play was a mellow melodrama. One pathetic scene, 
that brought tears to all eyes, was when the servant girl left 
her mistress, who immediately stood on her head to show her 
grief and legs, then fell on hands and knees, and began swing¬ 
ing her head and hair around in a circle for full five minutes. 
The audience lost its head in the excitement and I feared she 
would hers. She was easily the headliner and was a man, for 
all actresses are men. The artists were grotesquely dressed 
and painted. This hand-painted China was as ugly as some 
other exhibits I have seen in stores. After two hours we were 
dizzy and deaf, and left this Pandemonium din and den of 
mad yellow devils. The music and mirth were head, ear and 
side-splitting. Like a continued story in a newspaper the play 
was to be continued nightly for weeks; a one-night stand was 
sufficient for us who felt sorry for the dramatic critic whose 
duty it was to write a complimentary account of the coherence 
of the play and the artistry of its production. 

GAMBLING AND OPIUM 

OHN CHINAMAN is the most honest, willing, indus¬ 
trious and persevering citizen of the islands. He is 
only addicted to opium, the drama and gambling. 
I have seen them at night in Honolulu crouching in 
their cramped quarters having a quiet game, and I knew how 






216 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


they and the Filipinos were given heavy fines and stiff sen¬ 
tences by judges, who in going to and from the islands play 
for big money. Church lotteries, charity chances, horse-races, 
carnival games, commercial ventures, stock brokers, polite 
white society in large hotels and residences, play unmolested 
and for big stakes, yet the law draws the color line on the 
poor Oriental, who has been taught to regard this as a part 
of his pleasure, religion and education. 

Business opportunities are not very bright for a young 
man in the islands independent of the Big Six, unless he goes 
into opium-smuggling, a fine art here which will get you “rich 
quick” unless the officers get you first. Of course, like all 
business ventures, there is some element of risk, it is no game 
for amateurs. I talked to one officer on a boat who said he 
would like to go in for a big haul of $50,000 and then quit. 

While here the custom officers raided a smuggler’s signal 
station. In the hut were found a pair of field glasses, signal 
search lights and telephone wires. Moreover, they discovered 
a signal flag of a large white field with a black circle enclos¬ 
ing a black cross. Ships come from the Orient and you might 
as well expect them to come without fuel as without “poppy- 
juice.” It is risky to drop, ship or carry opium away at the 
dock, so the smugglers drop it overboard after they have seen 
the signal. Then the sampan slips out and picks up the pack¬ 
age. Often the dope is not dropped till the ship returns from 
’Frisco en route to the Orient. A few months ago the ’Frisco 
officers received a tip and made a $15,500 haul of the smuggled 
stuff. Further discoveries were made of smuggled bolts of 
silk between stateroom partitions, and cases of the intoxicat¬ 
ing “sam-shu.” A scullery worker offered the custom official 
$200 if he would let him off—evidently the amount was insuffi¬ 
cient and the opium worth much more. 

Smokers and smugglers endanger life and liberty for an 
opium dream, but don’t we all risk health, life and character 
for dreams of money, fame and pleasure? Some even go to 
jail for their dreams of liberty. The world’s but a dream, and 
we are but dreamers as Shakespeare and Calderon said at 
great length long ago. 

One day standing by the Young Hotel I heard and saw 
a Chinese funeral. It was led by a band dressed in white play- 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


217 


ing, “Safe in the arms of Jesus.” The mourners followed 
with ^their heads covered. Then came the auto-hearse with 
the body followed by two dozen autos. In the last one I saw 
and heard some men beating cymbals, clanging irons and 
pounding the devil out of a drum to drive away the evil spir¬ 
its. To a different tune they were “playing safe.” What a 
chance to moralize! Christian music to lead, and heathen 
ceremony to end. Does it prove that first impressions are last¬ 
ing, that all’s well that ends well, that old belief topped with 
new faith is safe, or that this music would get the devil com¬ 
ing and going? 

There is no night in the benighted, heathen, yellow quarter 
of the city, for Jap and Chink tailors work all the time. The 
name “Honolulu” means “Abundance of Peace,” and the 
name fits the town after seven o’clock at night. It is so dead 
that not even a ghost is around, though these airy spirits were 
accustomed to gather at the corner of King and Nuuana ave¬ 
nues. Whether they talked of business, told ghost stories or 
repeated scandal of the underworld, I can’t say. 

Checkers is a classic game. On the walls of Thebes I saw 
Rameses II playing a game with a woman, and it has been 
surmised that checkers was the game Penelope’s suitors 
amused themselves with according to Homer’s description in 
the first book of the Odyssey. It is related, too, that Pali- 
medes invented the game between sieges at the battle of Troy 
—Palimedes, you know, was on the Greek draftboard and 
rounded up the malingering Ulysses, who, being unwilling to 
go to war, feigned he was mad. The ancient Hawaiians played 
checkers and were champions. They lived to fill up on awa 
and play the game. Here in Honolulu property and even lives 
were freely gambled away. The gambling spirit still sways 
the town. Last year a jury could not agree on the verdict for 
a Chinese gambling case. They were so tired and provoked 
that they substituted the goddess of chance for the goddess 
of justice. Twenty-four slips of paper were taken, shaken up 
in the hat of a juror, twelve of the slips bearing the word 
“guilty,” and twelve “not guilty.” Then they drew, having 
agreed that the first twelve slips of one kind should decide 
the verdict. The “not guilty” slips were the winners, and 


218 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


accordingly the foreman of the jury brought in a verdict of 
“not guilty.” This was a case of similia similibus curantur. 
The manner of their decision was discovered, the judge dis¬ 
charged the jurors and censured their conduct as “illegal, in¬ 
excusable and highly reprehensible.” 

There have been changes in the last few centuries. Instead 
of ghost dances in the Punch Bowl there are auto rides and 
Easter services, and instead of men, gasoline is burned there. 
The former home of the gods has been transformed into a 
country club of golf links. The shark-god had his quarters 
at Waikiki—now you find godless shark corporations which 
have gobbled up property along the beach. There was a tem¬ 
ple at Fort street, whose walls were adorned with the heads 
of men offered in sacrifice. Now we find temples of commerce 
where men put their heads together to sacrifice others. 

GOOD BAD GIRLS. 

HE all around, best-looking Hawaiian ladies in the 
islands are at the girls’ Reform School. I advise 
any young man who is looking for a good wife to 
come here and choose from the many industrious 
beauties. Instead of spending their time in auto joy-riding, 
hotel and lanai gossiping with people who only work their 
tongue, sit with their feet in the water and their heads in the 
clouds, I saw them making mats and fans, and weaving rugs 
and hula skirts. They were busy in various buildings indus¬ 
triously and neatly, and I know they will make good business 
wives from the excellent specimens of sewing, cooking and 
laundry we saw. The girls are on the honor system. If in¬ 
tractable, which is infrequent, they are placed alone. Differ¬ 
ently furnished dormitories indicate different grades of be¬ 
havior. “Good” girls have larger rooms, better furniture and 
the luxury of a mirror, though the latter seems needless, for 
there are no boys to doll up for, and their clothes are all the 
same. To be deprived of a mirror would be no hardship to 
a bald-headed, bespectacled bachelor or an old homely maid, 
but for a young Venus to be unable to worship herself in a 
glass is inhuman punishment. The idea Is not so much to 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


219 


punish for being bad as to reward for being good. The girls 
have been generally brought here on the charge of immor¬ 
ality or unmorality. Well, to the tourist, who isn’t deaf, blind 
or a fool all the time, this looks like an unfair distinction, and 
that there is a double standard of morals between these 
Hawaiian girls and many of their yellow and white sisters. 
When it comes to the men in the islands, who are usually 
guilty in sex sin five times out of six, and who forget that 
if men will be good women will be pure, there is no detention 
place large or strong enough to hold them. 

THE HULA HULA 

N Washington’s birthday I asked a young Hawaiian 
girl where the “Maternity” home was. She looked as 
if that were a strange question from a nice old man like 
me, but you never can tell, especially here. It is an 
old joke that one day three of Honolulu’s most prominent citi¬ 
zens were standing on the street corner, when a little Hawaiian 
boy came up and said, “Papa, give me a penny.” Instantly 
and without looking around, all reached down in their pockets 
for a cent. But the girl I interrogated was not thinking of 
what I was, and directed me there. 

The occasion was a luau and a great success. Hawaii’s 
high society was present in all its glory. The ladies looked 
quite like angels flitting about in their gossamer gowns, and 
tanned as if they had been flying too near the sun. We listened 
to a group of Hawaiian men who played and sang hulas. I 
couldn’t understand, but the Hawaiian women, who were near, 
did, and I knew from their looks, laughs and remarks that 
the words were “interesting.” I asked the musicians to trans¬ 
late them for me and the leader answered, “They’re too hot.” 
Imagine it, singing untranslatable songs in public! The next 
Sunday morning at the Coral church I glanced into the choir 
that was leading the congregation in spiritual psalms and 
songs, and behold, there was one of the heavy hula singers of 
the day before. 

Speaking of music, recalls my friend Ernest Kaai, “Ha¬ 
waii’s music man.” He is a composer of songs and instru- 








220 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


mental music for the ukelele, mandolin and steel guitar. "When 
he plays Orpheus drops his lyre to listen to him. He kahu¬ 
nas his listeners with the magic of his music, and his singing 
and playing is one of the witcheries of the island that still 
holds me in its thrall. He told me of a music tour with an 
Hawaiian troupe in Australia. It was holy week in Sydney, 
however impossible this may seem, and all places of secular 
amusement were closed. His troupe had not been educate^ 
or prepared for holy religious concerts. They were more 
familiar with hulas than hymns, but Ernest was wise. He was 
an illustration of Wilde’s, “The Importance of Being Earn¬ 
est.” He taught the boys to sing and play the wildest music 
in “Nearer My God to Thee” tempo. Then he secured per¬ 
mission from the city dads to give a “sacred” concert, billed 
the town, packed the house, saintly Sydney fell for it and 
went home with high ideas of the great good the missionaries 
had accomplished in the Sandwich islands. 

As a foreign student of Hawaiian morals I took the fatigue 
and expense of a Pacific trip to investigate and examine the 
native dance proper, or improper, rather—the hula, although 
much research was not necessary to understand its meaning. 
The hula is a native dance divided into two classes—obscene 
and otherwise. At a recent carnival there were public hula 
dancers who shocked several of the local pastors so greatly that 
they hid behind the bulwarks of their Sunday pulpits and 
turned the gattling, rattling, gun of their holy criticism against 
the girls’ gyrations. We saw them dance many times, and 
while the entertainment might not be the best thing for a 
Y. M. C A. prayer meeting, or Y. W. C. A. picnic, the dusky 
maidens wore more clothes and were less suggestive in their move¬ 
ments than some of the fashionable white society women I had 
seen dancing at the Moana Hotel. Further, these hula girls 
danced alone and were not hugged and lugged around by a 
satyr set of military monkeys. 

The ancient hula was generally performed by girls deco¬ 
rated with wreaths on their heads, hog-teeth bracelets on their 
wrists, dog-teeth buskins on their ankles and whale’s teeth 
and leis for neck ornaments. There is no mention of grass 
skirts, but with or without, the people were less prudish, 
and old Hawaii was not bothered with Purity Squads. The 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


221 


dancers generally remained stationary, moving arms and 
bodies to musical accompaniment and keeping time by strik¬ 
ing their breasts to the beat of calabash, stick or drum. Some 
of the dances were for the gods or chiefs, others describing 
their daily life. This pantomime dance was sometimes sala- 
ciously suggestive in motion, and the accompanying songs were 
not fit for an addenda to the catechism. Many professional 
hula dancers were said to have been consecrated to the service 
of the foul goddess Laka. This divinity had a shrine that was 
kept green and was worshipped. The Hawaiians were out 
and out in their dancing. They did not gloss it over and wore 
no hypocritical fig-leaves. They did not throw masks or 
mantels over their viciousness, under the guise of religious 
charity balls and philanthropic society parties. The hula is 
a hip dance, but the Hawaiians were not “hip”-o-critical in 
doing it. The dance is not sad or hippish but one of joy. I’ve 
seen many dances—the Apache in Paris, du ventre in Cairo, 
the can-can in Buenos Aires, and with money here one can 
arrange with a chauffeur or at a hula house to see a hula, com¬ 
bining all of these vile and violent exhibitions. It is a composite 
of the compost of all dirty dances, most delightfully depraved, 
innocent of decency and shame, the dancers being quite careless 
about the exposure of their legs, arms and charms. What cap¬ 
tivating indelicacy, so disturbing to the looker-on! But this is 
not the native hula. There is sufficient of the sun and vol¬ 
cano without it. The whites have taken away the native 
naivete and added their own nastiness. As a physiological 
study the dance is informing. 

In antiquity these antics were a religious service, combin¬ 
ing poetry, pantomime and passion. The old edition of the 
heathen hula dance has been expurgated, but Christian foot¬ 
notes suggest more. 

Socrates learned to dance when he was an old man, but I 
don’t think it was a hula. I learned it a little, as well as to 
play the ukelele, and may give exhibitions and concerts in 
the near future so as to raise funds to send missionaries here 
to convert the heathen. 

Some years ago the world was shocked because I had some 
hula wigglers in my church. People wondered whether it 


222 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


was a proper thing to hula in the pulpit. I told the Hawaiian 
girl that David danced before the Lord and she could doubt¬ 
less do it a great deal better; that we were to use our various 
gifts; that if God gave her the ability to dance, He expected 
her to use it as much as He did me to use my voice. I adver¬ 
tised the Hawaiian attraction. The streets were blocked with 
people long before the doors were opened. The Hawaiians 
gave vocal and instrumental numbers—then a girl hulaed, 
and the ‘‘uplift” of her foot and skirt was appreciated by 
the devoted attention of the congregation. No one slept. Here 
was a new religious “movement” to fill all Christendom. And 
with that crowd, with the example of Paul who was willing 
to be all things to all men in order to save some, I preached 
a hot Gospel sermon from the text, “Whatsoever ye do in word 
or deed, do all in the name of the Lord.” 

“Antone” is one of the notorious Hawaiians I met. He is 
an historic character. Just as Petronius Arbiter arranged the 
pleasures for Nero, so Antone told me he was purveyor to 
King Kalakaua. The old native’s wind is broken now, but he 
was some sprinter in his day, and described some records he- 
had made—but if I only had a record of his chanting, as he 
gave us a wild ancient dance, we could become millionaires. 
Old and gray, he can put more vim in a hula or other native 
dance than a N. Y. comedy chorus. He has a house where he 
gives luau feasts and dances to tourist travelers. Give him 
leis, red or lavender skirt, a gourd-shaped calabash which he 
shakes like a dice box, let him warm up to a dancing frenzy— 
running forwards and backwards, advancing and retreating, 
springing up into the air, singing, chanting, growling, per¬ 
spiring, inspiring with all the poetry and frenzy of a howling 
dervish one sees in Constantinople—and you are carried back 
centuries, as the floor throbs and trembles under his bounding 
bare feet. Okelehou, the fiery native drink, adds fuel to his 
dancing flame. Near-beer could never inspire to such heights 
of rhapsody. What would appear disgusting in an amateur 
is transformed into poetical paganism. 0 Antone! dancing 
thy historic dances to ignorant, unappreciative travelers in 
these islands! Thou shouldst have been living in the time of 
Dionysius, the divine, and the chief of his followers, who roved 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


223 


and reveled in maddest merriment over legendary hills of 
Greece and Rome! An orgy without Antone is an omelet with 
the ham left out. 

One evening we arrived at Antone’s place just in time to 
see the closing rounds of a fight which was not scheduled. It 
was between several sailors who had quarreled over the charms 
of a hula girl, with the result of broken heads, hearts and 
furniture. Antone welcomed us with characteristic Hawaiian 
hospitality—we could eat, drink and stay as long as we 
pleased—all night in fact, with his hula girls for company! 
Thanks, old man, for thy ancient, beautiful and unbounded 
generosity. But I was married, my son was with me, and if 
we had not returned it would have caused the wife and mother 
to wonder where her wandering boys were that night. 

HONOLULU CHARACTERS 

HE royalty of princes and princesses here is thick as the 
dandelions on your summer lawn. When you go in 
swimming at the beach, sit in the street car, walk in the 
park or enter a church or movie, you rub elbows with 
royalty. Unlike European society, this royalty is not surrounded 
by a fence of wooden-headed soldier guards to keep you at dis¬ 
tance. I paid my respects to Princess Therese in the seclusion 
of her old home in the heart of Honolulu, a home, she affirms, 
certain rich men are seeking to rob her of. She was the wife of 
a former Hawaiian representative at Washington, was a friend 
of Theodore Roosevelt, and had received recognition in diplomatic 
society. She keeps alive the pan horse riding habit which is al¬ 
most pau. She boasts clearer blood relationship to royalty than a 
local alleged prince and princess, and told me that the late will 
which she and Kealoha were alleged to have offered as a bogus 
will for probate, after Queen Liliuokalani’s death, was a lie, libel 
and persecution of the big thieves of the island. She declared to 
me the witnesses were bribed by the big mitt men of Honolulu to 
testify that she paid them to sign an alleged fake will. How she 
can and how she did talk! How her eyes flashed anger at the re¬ 
cital of wrongs done her and her people! Like another Cassandra 
she prohesied what would come, even though her enemies might 





224 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


not believe her. Then her spirit changed from ice and fire to love 
and sympathy, for her aged aunt lay sick in the other room. She 
had just been brought back from the grave. For an hour we 
looked into the classic face of this woman, highest and last of 
Hawaiian royalty, with mind as clear as sunshine and conversa¬ 
tion polished as a ball-room! floor. She was writing a book on 
Hawaiian history. It might be difficult to get it printed in Hono¬ 
lulu because of the truth in it, and she asked me if I knew some 
American publisher who would handle it. Americans claim and 
have the right to print truth, or falsehood, libel, blasphemy and 
treason. Of course, you may be arrested, convicted, imprisoned 
or fined, and in case of treason, executed. You may be right or 
wrong, but you have the right to publish. It is wrong to deny 
you the right to publish what you deem right. Say what you 
please and take the consequences. As a rule, a body of censors 
is the booby class of the community. The greatest works in the 
world have been barred and burned, and the writers put behind 
the bars. 

In his quiet home by the sea I talked with Colonel Sam 
Parker, though he couldn’t talk to me for his tongue is paralyzed. 
Not so the tongue of his devoted daughter who is an encyclopedia 
of island information. “Sam,” as he is familiarly called, hob¬ 
nobbed with King Kalakaua and Buffalo Bill in Europe. Had 
he written a book, “Three of a Kind in Paris,” it would divide 
honors with some of the spiciest French and IT. S. stories ever 
printed. I placed my hand under the sheet and gave him the 
Masonic grip, then sat at the piano and played for him., while on 
the coral floor of Waikiki beach the waves gave a rhythmical 
dance. Sam smiled his approval and thanks, and I left him to 
hear some real “coral” music on the coral beach that I prefer to 
any other except Bach’s. 

One can’t write about Honolulu without mentioning Dr. W. 
D. Westervelt, the ghostologist of the islands ; Williams, the vet¬ 
eran photographer who told me the best thing about his deafness 
was that he didn’t have to listen to any sermons; and Ray Baker, 
the traveloguer, whose recent moving pictures of the volcano were 
art and education to the masses who were unable to see it per¬ 
sonally. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


225 


Sunny Jim ’ ’ McCandless, who is the light of the Shrine in 
Honolulu, is a Jim dandy before whom, as illustrious potentate, 
we Shriners expect to bow. 

Then there is my friend Ford whose batteries never run 
down, who can take you on a “Mid-Pacific” tour. 

GOD IS NOT MOCKED 

N rummaging through a second-hand book store I dis¬ 
covered an old volume that we thought much of in 
childhood’s day. You may possibly have seen it, though 
nowadays many seem never to have heard of it, or if so, 
with our learned newspapers, philosophic magazines and psycho¬ 
logical movies, and religious and intellectual modern writers 
who fill the libraries, you may have had no time to read it. 
From the way church members act and ministers talk, I fear 
they have no copy of it. You won’t find it on clubroom read¬ 
ing table or newsstand. It is not much read or quoted in our 
public schools or universities. I fear it was not found on the 
table or in the hearts of some of the men who sat around the 
Peace Table at Versailles. It is a book of God and god of books 
—the Bible. From its first old book and last new chapter it 
echoes and re-echoes one great truth, that applies to individuals 
and nations, “Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatso¬ 
ever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” We naturally say 
this applies to Germany who sowed to the whirlwind and reaped 
corruption, but even-handed justice commends the truth to 
others. It has been easy for the big Allies to see the beam in 
their enemies’ eyes—it might be profitable for them to have their 
attention called to the mote in their own eyes. France, through 
Napoleon, soaks Europe in blood, and today her white lilies are 
red stained; England makes war on the innocent Dutch in 
South Africa, Queen Victoria dies of a broken heart, and Al¬ 
bion’s sons’ bones lie whitening on the battlefield; Belgium in 
her King Leopold, committed devil atrocities that would have 
shamed hell, and her people are butchered to make a German 
holiday; the U. S. looked enviously toward Hawaii, annexed 
her by what the natives call the might of right, and thousands 
of our best and bravest boys lie under French soil waiting the 
reveille of the Judgment Day. 





226 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


STEALING THE HAWAIIAN ISLANDS 

E are told in history that the Hawaiians were fighting 
anxious to be annexed by the U. S. Who said so ? The 
subsidized encyclopedias and school books. Their state¬ 
ment doesn’t make it so, and the mere fact that they 
do say so should lead one to question its truth. What the Hawa¬ 
iians think, that is, those who are not bribed, cowed, bulldozed 
to say and think differently, is said by their loved ex-queen Lili- 
uokalani in her book. I went to several bookstores in Honolulu 
and asked for a c6py, but was told it was not in stock, was un¬ 
reliable, and the edition would soon be exhausted. In the last 
chapter of the book she declares that the habits and prejudices of 
New England Puritanism were not well adapted to the genius of 
a tropical people, nor capable of being thoroughly ingrafted up¬ 
on them; that while four-fifths of the population of the islands 
was swept out of existence by the vices introduced by foreigners, 
the ruling class clung to Christian morality and gave its un¬ 
varying support and service to the work of saving and civilizing 
the masses; that certain habits and modes of living were better 
for the islanders’ health and happiness than others; and that 
a separate nationality, and a particular form of government, as 
well as special laws, are at least for the present best for them; 
these things remained to them until the pitiless and tireless an¬ 
nexation policy was effectively backed by the naval power of 
the U. S.; that it had not entered into their hearts to believe 
that the friends and allies from the U. S., even with all their 
foreign affinities, would ever go so far as to absolutely over¬ 
throw their form of government, seize the nation by the throat 
and pass it over to an alien power; that this may be a kind of 
right depending upon the precedents of all ages, and known as 
the “Right of Conquest” under which robbers and marauders 
may establish themselves in possession of whatsoever they are 
strong enough to ravish from their fellows; that if the natives 
have nourished in their bosom those who have sought their ruin, 
it has been because they were of the people whom they be¬ 
lieved to be their dearest friends and allies; that the govern¬ 
ment at Honolulu had been forced upon it by no acts of the 
natives, but by the unlawful acts of the U. S. agents; that if 
they did not by force resist their final outrage it was because 
they could not do so without striking at the military force of 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


227 


the U. S.; the people of the islands had no voice in determining 
their future but were virtually relegated to the condition of the 
aborigines of the American continent; that in Hawaii there was 
an alien element composed of men of energy and determination 
well able to carry through what they undertook, but not 
scrupulous respecting their methods; that they doubtless con¬ 
trolled all the resources and influence of the ruling power in 
Honolulu and will employ them tirelessly in the future as they 
have in the past to secure their ends; that this annexationist 
party might prove to be a dangerous accession even to American 
politics, both on account of natural abilities and because of the 
training of an autocratic life from earliest youth. 

Queen “Lil” concludes by saying: 4 ‘Is the American re¬ 
public of state to degenerate and become a colonizer and land- 
grabber, and is this prospect satisfactory to a people who rely 
upon self-government for their liberties, and whose guaranty 
of liberty and autonomy to the whole western hemisphere, the 
grand Monroe Doctrine, appealing to the respect and sense of 
justice of the masses of every nation on earth, has made any 
attack upon it practically impossible to the statesmen and rulers 
of armed empires? There is but little question that the U. S. 
could become a successful rival of the European nations in the 
race for conquest, and could create a vast military and naval 
power, if such is its ambition. But is such an ambition laud¬ 
able? Is such a departure from its established principles, 
patriotic or politic? 

‘ ‘ Oh, honest Americans, as Christians hear me, for my 
down-trodden people! Their form of government is as dear to 
them as yours is precious to you. Quite as warmly as you love 
your country, so they love theirs. With all your goodly pos¬ 
sessions, covering a territory so immense that there yet remain 
parts unexplored, possessing islands that, although near at hand, 
had to be neutral ground in time of war, do not covet the little 
vineyard of Naboth’s, so far from your shores, lest the punish¬ 
ment of Ahab fall upon you, if not in your day, in that of your 
children, for, ‘Be not deceived, God is not mocked.’ The peo¬ 
ple to whom your fathers told of the living God, and taught to 
call Father, and whom the sons now seek to despoil and destroy, 
are crying aloud to Him in their time of trouble; and He will 
keep his promise and will listen to the voices of his Hawaiian 


228 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


children lamenting for their homes. It is for them that I would 
give the last drop of my blood; it is for them that I would 
spend, nay, am spending everything belonging to me. Will it 
be in vain? It is for the American people and their repre¬ 
sentatives in Congress to answer these questions? As they deaf 
with me and my people, kindly, generously, and justly, so may 
the Great Ruler of all nations deal with the grand and glorious 
nation of the United States of America.’* 

Though dead she speaks. Lest we forget, it might be well 
to appropriate a few dollars, if there is anything left when the 
Democratic political purloiners leave Washington and are sent 
home to the farm where they belong, to have copies of this ap¬ 
peal printed, framed and hung up in the Congressional halls at 
Washington and in the White House. 

CHRISTLESS CHURCHES 

HE Buddhist, Shinto, Confucian, Mormon and Chris¬ 
tian Science churches are not the only heathen tem¬ 
ples—there are others—Christian churches which pro¬ 
fess more and possess less. 

During our visit, the Right Reverend Boeynama, Bishop of 
Zuugma, head of the Roman Catholic Mission in the islands, 
bellowed a bull of opposition to having the Bible in the public 
schools because it was “sectarian.” In that same issue of the 
morning paper I read that the Roman Catholic Brothers of 
Hilo intended to have a bill introduced into the Senate asking 
the legislature for $10,000 appropriation out of the general 
revenues of the Territory for repairing and enlarging their 
school building to accommodate children on the streets, because 
of congested conditions in public schools. What a two-faced, 
forked-tongue proposition! The Bible, charged with being 
sectarian in a public school, and a wholly sectarian un-Amer¬ 
ican school asking the public for funds to run it. 

Honolulu heat expands everything except some of the white 
churches and their preachers. Their train of thought runs on 
a narrow-gauged railway. One bishop here insists that in all 
his church programs the pronoun that refers to himself shall be 
spelled in capitals, thus dividing honor with deity in 
the use of the alphabet. At the Oriental Y. M. C. A., where I 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


229 


made ail address, I playfully dropped the remark that I had 
been invited to speak at different schools, societies and clubs in 
the city and had been cordially received, but that the ministers 
were evidently afraid or suspicious of me and had not invited 
me to me to come into their pulpits. A clergyman present spoke 
up and said, “Fill mine Sunday, will you?” I said thanks, I’ll 
try, and play the organ for you too. Next morning he called up 
an ex-Baptist friend of mine to ask if he had been rash in extend¬ 
ing the invitation, for he wondered what I would do. “Do?” 
was the reply, “he will preach you folks a straight old-fashioned 
Gospel sermon that you all need. ’ ’ 

Sunday night came and so did the folks who filled the 
church. I played for half an hour, the doctor conducted the 
devotional exercises and then introduced me, saying in sub¬ 
stance, that they had enjoyed Dr. Morrill’s music and trusted 
they would be pleased with his preaching. He didn’t know, 
since he had asked me to preach,-whether he had made a mis¬ 
take or not, for I preached in a theatre in Minneapolis and to 
the common people. His church with its surroundings was dif¬ 
ferent, but he trusted that speaking in his church and to his 
people would have a good influence on me as well as on all who 
were present. 

Bless the dear doctor’s soul, he was in earnest, sincere and 
not sarcastic. I was warm from playing and this warm intro¬ 
duction of his put me in a pious perspiration. I felt like a 
convicted criminal about to make a public confession. Leaving 
the organ bench I went to the pulpit. My first impulse was to 
tell the doctor he need have no fear, that I wouldn’t hit him or 
jump over the altar-rail and bite the people, that he was taking 
no more of a chance than I was, that I was willing to try most 
anything once—even to preaching for him. However, I had 
the grace and sense, for once in my life, at least, to bite my lips, 
hold my tongue, keep still and shut my mouth. I simply walked 
over to the doctor, gave him my hand, took my Bible and text, 
quoted, “What think ye of Christ?” and preached. During 
the sermon I saw many of the city’s society and rich business 
men. Incidentally I said that Jesus did not say, “Blessed are 
the rich who own the sugar and pineapple plantations, the rail¬ 
roads and ships, who live in palaces, eat and drink sumptuously 
as Dives, wear fine clothes, ride in expensive autos, direct poli- 


230 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


tics, head committees, own the press and get their names in 
print. ’ ’ No, He spake never as man, when he reserved his 
“blessed” and blessings for the poor, for those who mourn, 
were meek, hungry, merciful, pure, peacemakers, persecuted and 
reviled. We had a good time, at least I did, and the good doc¬ 
tor and his members told me so at the close of the service. 

Some days later, a man who had lived here 25 years, and 
listened to my sermon, said, “You talk right out in meeting— 
one who tells the truth about Honolulu isn’t welcome and can’t 
return.” I told him that never in my 30 years preaching had 
I ever taken the text, “Hold your tongue and hold your job.” 
Later I met a prominent man, who said, when I first came to 
the island, “This is just the field for you—you are a live-wire 
and original—why don’t you stay with us?” After I had made 
several speeches in town he remarked. “This town is too small 
and provincial for you—you never would be satisfied to preach 
here.” What was the matter? Mammonism. The worldly 
church member will not pay much towards the support of the 
pastor Sunday morning who looks him square in the eye and 
says, as Nathan did to David, “Thou art the man,” who art 
avaricious, adulterous, lying and dishonest. It is a pity that 
often the man of God is so human he bows to the golden calf in 
the pew, and that the missionary has his mouth so full of gold 
teeth, a present from his congregation, that he simply cannot 
or will not tell the truth. 

THE GOLDEN CALF 

ONOLULANS honor the field of cane and not the field 
of letters. The bank book and not the Bible is their 
classic. The Muse has been thrown over for Mammon¬ 
ism. They drink their inspiration from Pactolus in¬ 
stead of Castaly. Their goddess is Dea Moneta, Queen Money; 
their summum bonum is commodity to whom are sacrificed the 
head, the hand and the heart. With them it is not virtue or 
valor, wisdom, honesty or religion that is so much respected as 
money. In the words of Timon of Athens— 

“the learned pate 
Ducks to the golden fool: 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


231 


Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? 

♦ # # 

Why, this 

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, 

Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads: 

This yellow slave 

Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed. 

Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves 
And give them title, knee and approbation 
With senators on the bench: this is it 
That makes the wappen’d widow wed again: 

She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores 
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
To the April day again— 

# # * 

O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 
‘ Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler 
Of Hymen’s purest bed! thou valiant Mars! 

# * * 

Thou visible God 

That solder’st close impossibilities, 

And makest them kiss! that speak’st with every tongue 
To every purpose! 0 thou touch of hearts! ’ ’ 

Jesus said, “After this manner therefore pray ye: 

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed by thy name. 

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven. 
Give us this day our daily bread. 

And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. 

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil; 

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. 
Amen.” 

In Honolulu they pray after this manner: 

“Almighty dollar!—Our acknowledged governor, preserver, 
and benefactor, we desire to approach thee, on this and every 
other occasion, with that reverence which is due superior ex¬ 
cellence and that regard which should ever be cherished for ex¬ 
alted greatness. 


I 


232 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


“Almighty Dollar, without thee we can do nothing, but 
with thee we can do all things. When sickness lays its palsying 
hand upon us, thou canst provide for us the tenderest of nurses 
and the most skillful of physicians, and when the last struggle 
of mortality is over, and we are borne to this resting: place of 
the dead, thou canst provide a band of music and a military es¬ 
cort to accompany us. And thou erectest a monument over our 
grave with a lying epitaph to perpetuate our memory. 

“And while here amid the misfortunes and temptations of 
life, perhaps we are accused of crime, and brought before the 
magistrate, thou, Almighty Dollar, canst secure for .us a feed 
lawyer, a bribed judge, a packed jury and we go scot free. 

“Be with us, we pray thee, in all thy decimal parts—for 
thou art the only perfect, altogether lovely, and a chief of ten 
thousand. We know that there is no condition in life where 
thy potent and all powerful influence is not felt. In thy ab¬ 
sence how dreary the household and how desolate the hearth¬ 
stone ; but when thou, Almighty Dollar, art with us, how cheer¬ 
ful the beefsteak sings on the grate, how genial the warmth 
anthracite coal and hickory wood diffuses throughout the apart¬ 
ment, and what exuberance of joy swells in every bosom. 

“Thou art the joy of our youth and the solace of old age. 
Thou adornest the gentleman; thou feedest the jackass; thou 
art the favorite with the philosopher, and the idol of the lunk¬ 
head. 

“When an election is to be carried, 0 Almighty Dollar, thou 
art the most potent argument of politicians and demagogues 
and the umpire decides the contest. 

“Almighty Dollar, thou are worshipped the world over; 
thou hast no hypocrites in thy temples, and there are no false 
hearts at^thine altars. Kings and courtiers bow before thee and 
all nations adore thee. Thou art loved by all who are truly 
civilized and Christianized with unfeigned and unfaltering af¬ 
fection. We continue to regard thee as the handmaid of re¬ 
ligion and the twin-sister of charity. 

“0 Almighty Dollar, be with us, we beseech thee, attended 
by an inexpressible number of thy ministering angels, made in 
thine own image, even though they be but silver quarters, whose 
gladdening light shall illumine the vale of penury and want 
with heavenly radiance, which shall cause the awakened soul to 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


233 


break forth in acclamations of joy. Thou art the guide of our 
footsteps and the goal of our being; guided by thy silvery light 
we hope to reach the golden gate, triumphantly enter while 
hands harmoniously sweep the golden harps as we walk the 
golden streets. 

“Almighty Dollar, thy shining face bespeaks thy wondrous 
power. In my pocket make thy resting place. I need thee 
every hour. 

“And now, Almighty Dollar, in closing this invocation, we 
bespeak thy every and multitudinous blessings. Permit us to 
possess thee in abundance and give us all thy varied excellencies, 
is our unwavering prayer.” 

The islands are Pagan in morals, mediaeval in laws and 
manners and modern in political corruption. 

The Hawaiian natives are fast dying out, are indolent, im¬ 
provident and superstitious, many nominal Christians still be¬ 
lieving in signs, heathen gods and praying one another to death. 

The islands are run by the ‘‘Big Six” who control the wealth, 
the politics, the education, religion, and social condition of the 
group. The Golden Calf has become an overgrown steer before 
which they fall down and worship. 

Sugar planters think more of the interest on their money 
than the interest of their laborers. No labor unions are per¬ 
mitted on the island and Hawaii is on the brink of an economic 
volcano compared with which Kilauea is a firecracker. 

Hawaii is not a Territory but an oligarchy, feudalistic no^ 
friendly. She is calling for more ships of commerce, but what 
she needs is fellowship. 

In many ways the natives would have been better had they 
been left to themselves. The beach-comber, exploiter and trader 
have taught them vices instead of virtues, while the missionary 
has tried to teach men to put away idols, and the women to put 
on holokus—Mother Hubbards—which cover everything and fit 
nothing like many of the theories advanced for their mental 
and moral improvement. 

If the missionaries had addressed their sermons to the souls 
of the natives and not so much to the dress of their bodies, there 
would be more Kanakas on the islands, and those living now 
would have more robust health, Clothes make the man—die 


234 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


here. The native lived in the water most of the time, a coating 
of coeoanut oil was about all the dressing he needed. The 
missionaries insisted on more, so that his damp clothing be¬ 
came a shroud for the poor body which had succumbed to tuber¬ 
culosis, bronchitis and pneumonia. 

POLITICAL BUMS 

ATTENDED the opening of the government session 
of the legislature in the historic palace. The Senate 
was opened with a prayer asking God to give wisdom 
in the deliberations (they needed it). In the House, 
the chairman was very busy carrying chairs around for the 
visitors, and no prayer was offered. The chaplain took his chair 
and was ready to offer his petition, but it was evident they did 
not want God in any of their dirty deals, so the body at once 
proceeded to business, leaving the chaplain to pray somewhere 
else or at some other time if he cared to. 

I attended a later session when these men, who had been 
elected on the platform promise of woman suffrage, turned 
down the proposition, and like the Devil in Job’s day, quoted 
Scripture in defense of their stand. One honorable gentleman 
declared the early law-giver Moses, in the Old 'Testament, was 
a man and not a woman, and that in the New Testament, if 
Jesus had believed in woman suffrage, he would have sur¬ 
rounded himself with fisherwomen and not fishermen. This 
man spoke with the pompous unction of one who had originated 
the Ten Commandments and was promulgating them for the 
first timie. 

The “thus saith the Lord,” has great weight with the 
Hawaiians, many of them believed this voice from heaven was 
the final word and were thus reconciled to the defeat of their 
pet and promised measure. I heard all this discussion in the 
open meeting of the Senate and House, and as a general invita¬ 
tion had been given for others to express their views, I quietly 
asked the moderator if I might say a word. He asked the 
opinion of an honorable member on the side, who evidently had 
overheard some of my side remarks. The moderator informed 
me it was best to confine the discussion to the actual residents 
of the island. So I was shut out, but it didn’t shut my woman 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


235 


suffrage mouth. Later I had an opportunity in an open article 
in the morning paper where I called them, “ bone-headed, flint 
hearted Ananias clubmen who deserved political burial.’ ’ I 
received no exchange of compliment by way of answer, and 
later I published my dream in an evening paper:— 

I dreamed I saw an Hawaiian legislator standing at heaven’s 
gate. “Where do you come from?” said the guardian angel. 
“Honolulu,” he replied. “That’s strange, no one comes here 
from there,” said the shining one, “but perhaps you are an 
exception, let me see—Did you smoke?” “Yes, but only good 
cigars.” “Well, that isn’t a great fault, but did you drink?” 
“Not much and never alone. I always treated the boys.” “I’ll 
let that pass—did you gamble?” “Only in small sums, never 
as stockbrokers.” “Life is a gamble,” the angel replied. “How 
were you on the girl-question?” “Oh, I had a few affairs.” 
“Never mind, I can’t blame you, the girls are so pretty in 
Hawaii; but did you go to church Sunday?” “Sometimes, 
but I confess I always went to sleep.” “Well, if people were 
barred out for that, Paradise would be empty.” 

The legislator smiled; he thought he had passed a good ex¬ 
amination and started to enter. “A moment, please,” the angel 
explained, “one more question, did you vote against the woman 
suffrage bill?” “Why, yes, what of it?” “Then to hell with 
you where you belong,” cried the celestial gatekeeper. 

The angel’s profanity awakened me. 

In harmony with the odorous reputation of their “Stink” 
river was the conduct shown leading Hawaiian women who had 
advertised an open air meeting in the adjoining park. Thous¬ 
ands were present, the band played, the suffragists were seated 
in the stand, and just as the first lady speaker rose to make 
some illuminating remarks, the wires were cut, the lights were 
off, and everybody was in the dark. They are very polite to 
women in Hawaii. 

Woman represents the brain and heart of the U. S. God 
repented making man, not woman. The country is what she 
makes it. No taxation without representation is our motto and 
she is taxed for property. Woman has the right to wear a 
wedding ring on one hand and carry a ballot in the other. The 
only argument ever advanced against her ballot w r as corrupt 
politics. Let us be courteous and fair to our mothers, wives, 


236 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


sisters and sweethearts, or remove the female statue of free¬ 
dom from the dome of the Capitol at Washington, tie it to the 
necks of anti-suffrage senators and drown them like cats in the 
Potomac River. All that these Hawaiian statesmen lacked was 
intelligence and intelligibility. Their highest idea of reform 
is to change the size of an envelope and the color of a postage 
stamp. Some of them were pointed out to me as poi-fed graft¬ 
ers ; as dealing in personalities, not principles: as > feathering 
their own nests; as porch-climbers of slander and corruption; 
and as thoroughly devoted in making laws for other people to 
obey. Many of these senators were not an ass in three letters, 
but in three volumes. 

At the opening of the session there were singers and bands, 
and the legislature posed for a movie picture. This suggested 
Ambrose Bierce’s lines, 

“Statesmen, what would you be at 
With torches, flags and bands? 

You make me first throw up my hat 
And then my hands.” 

What an American minister once said about politics abroad, 
may be applied to this island: “Political ambition, personal 
'jealousies, implacable theories, official venality, reckless disre¬ 
gard of individual rights and legal obligations; foolish meddling 
and empirical legislation; an absolute want of political morality 
form the principle features of their history.” 

God’s righteousness is like the great mountains. T often 
thought, as I marveled at Honolulu’s scenery, that there are 
sermons in stones, but men do not listen; summits preach high 
ideals and purity but people are deaf; and nature’s green only 
looks down on the mud and mire of heathen ignorance and 
superstition. 


ON THE BEACH AT WAIKIKI 

FAILED to detect much bashfulness on Waikiki 
beach. Hawaiian girls are not the kind to faint at 
the sight of a man’s pajamas or B. V. D.’s hanging 
on the clothes line, or to hide their faces with their 
handkerchiefs when they see a mere man at the beach in his 
bathing suit. This is healthy heathen modesty, one that is 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


237 


not on the constant lookout for pruriency. 

I photographed some young girls who were only clothed in 
innocency, and they were more modest in look and action than 
some girls who wear bathing suits at Venice, Calif., and Coney 
Island, N. Y. 

Waikiki Beach is not a sand, but a coral one that cuts and 
poisons your feet if you are careless. There is no public beach; 
you climb wire entanglements j the board walk is over board 
fences; for nearly all the beach property is private and one 
climbs over stone walls and breakwaters. At other beaches in 
the islands, where there is sand, there is such a dangerous un¬ 
dertow that it is unsafe to swim. At Waikiki there is no un¬ 
dertow and there is no beach. A government physician sta¬ 
tioned here informed me, after I had been going in the water 
every day, that the beach was nothing but diluted sewage with 
a town-drained stream running into it. Well, what of it? 
You find here what you cannot find on any other beach in the 
world—surf-boarding, outrigger-canoeing over the the waves, 
and rainbow colors on the reefs so brilliant, changing and 
beautiful that I can easily understand why the fishes, that 
come out of these waters, have such stained, spotted and 
curious colors. I was actually afraid to go in at first for fear 
I would come out striped as a barber’s pole. At night, sun¬ 
set, moon and stars are reflected in the sea; the vessels glow 
like harbor lights; the silhouette of a Jap with his flambeau 
torch and spear after squid and eels may be seen; there is the 
phantom surf on the shore; the shadowy forms of palm and 
bananas leaning towards the sea with lovers lingering about, 
singing and playing, making it such a scene as Tennyson 
dreamed of in his “Lotus-Eaters.” What a lovely location for 
the lotus-eaters this would have been in the days of Ulysses 
when he was compelled to drag his sailors away by main force, 
because they .had eaten of the lotus plant which made them lose 
all thoughts of home. How sweet it is to stroll along the moon¬ 
lit sands and listen to the natives with guitar and ukelele playing 
“Everybody Wants a Key to My Cellar,” “Peaches in Georgia,” 
“0, Susie, Behave. ” The pathos and poignancy of such melodies 
makes one weep. One thinks of all the past sad history and de¬ 
spair when he hears the words of these songs. Hinc illae lach- 
rymae. 


238 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


“O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.” 
We left the beach echoing the words of Milton’s Eve, “Must 
I leave thee, Paradise?” 

ISLAND ILLITERACY 

BOUT a hundred years ago Protestant missionaries 
came over to the Hawaiian Island with the torch of 
the Bible in their hands to illumine the darkness of 
heathendom. 

Later, whaling sailors lit up the fires of hell with liquor and 
lust, in which manners and morals were consumed. 

Then American capital, with the magic of money, rolled a 
wave of ignorant contract labor from the Orient, inundating the 
islands, and leaving a lot of Yellow muck and mire . Ideals of 
education were submerged. 

The ooze and slime gave birth to a material monster which 
strangled the intellectual activities of the islands. The only 
knight errant left to fight this corporation dragon is the school¬ 
master with his book for a buckler and his pen for a spear. 

At Honolulu I visited the College of Hawaii; the Military 
Academy for Boys; the Oahu College; the Mills School where 
I spoke and played the piano for the boys and girls who sang 
in return; the Kamehameha School; and the Korean Institute, 
where, in return for my words and music, the scholars sang 
their national airs, followed me to the car, giving me an ovation 
of flowers, cheers and song. Throughout the Island Group I 
visited many public American and Japanese schools, and the 
all-important question is “Can the Polyglot population of 
Hawaii be Americanized?” This population is made up mostly 
of Asiatics, males, aliens, illiterates, non-English-speaking, non- 
Christian, landless and homeless souls. Avaricious capital thinks 
that science of head depreciates skill of hand, and that to fill 
schools is to empty cane-fields of labor. 

The last census of 3910 showed 40,000 illiterates, that is, 
over 25 per cent of the population of ten years and over. More 
than half the inhabitants of the islands can neither speak Eng¬ 
lish, read nor write their own language. This includes the 
Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, Russians, Spaniards, Porto Ricans, 
Portuguese, half-castes, etc. Then, too, importation of cheap 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


239 


labor has m'ade the percentage abnormally large of mental and 
physical defectives. 

Hawaii is behind the times in public kindergartens and has 
been compared to the black belt in the South. Thousands of 
little children have no place to go. 

Music and Art help little in cane-cutting and are practically 
left out of the public school course. This shows the feudalistic 
and aristocratic organization of society, for in private schools, 
for the rich planters’ sons and daughters, music and art are 
well provided for. 

There are no part-time schools in Hawaii—thus working 
efficiency is impaired. Big business has spent most of its time 
in planning monied and mechanical success instead of increasing 
the output ability of lasting labor. 

What we call a finished American high school is unknown 
in the islands. What they call high schools are very small and 
primitive. Public school teachers are isolated, marooned from 
educational privileges, and miserably underpaid. 

The Japanese make up 40 per cent of the complete school 
enrollment. The Jap children not only attend the public schools, 
but also their “language schools” which are held before and 
after the public school sessions morning and evening. The 
worst thing about this is, not that the children are overburdened, 
but that Americanizing efficiency of the public schools is vitiated 
and largely made nil by the pernicious influence of bigoted, 
backward, Buddhist priests who control the Jap language 
school. 

The brand of Buddhism popular in Hawaii is marked by 
Mika do-worship, the superstition of the Dark Ages and jingo 
Jap patriotism. It is all right for the Japanese, or any nation 
here, to read, speak and write in their native tongue of their 
native land. But if these Oriental children are to build homes, 
becomes citizens and vote, it is of the utmost importance that 
they be Americanized and not Orientalized; that they say fare¬ 
well to the old, and welcome to the new; and that they let their 
old-w T orld ideals and customs sink into the Pacific. 

The facts and statistics in this article were not seen through 
the colored glasses of prejudice and are not the result of any 
brain-storm, but are based on a recent report by Professor 
Vaughan MacCaughey, the newly appointed superintendent of 


240 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Hawaiian instruction. He says: “Hawaii, politically com¬ 
mitted to Americanization, is in duty bound to express this 
commitment through an adequate public school system.” 

It is easier to beget children than to get them educated, so 
our Pilgrim and Puritan fathers taxed themselves to support 
public schools and teachers who should educate the youth in 
the facts of nature, history, government and religion. 

America is what her public schools are, and our public 
schools are what Americans pride themselves on. The public 
school, as nothing else, touches, equalizes and harmonizes all 
classes. It fuses into composite citizenship, fitting for freedom 
and making free. By the test of the public school, Hawaii has 
never been American, but an oligarchy run by a clique of com¬ 
mercial cut-throats. 

The fife-stream of American institutions in Hawaii has be¬ 
come a stagnant pool covered with a yellow Asiatic scum. 

If Hawaii will tear down some of her private churches and 
temples and use the material to build public schools, she will 
become more Christian and less heathen. 

The temple of American liberty is the public school where 
a congregation of all colors and creeds reads the Bible of His¬ 
tory, studies the Catechism of the Constitution, practices the 
Declaration of Independence and sings, “ America. ” 

UNMORAL PAST 

HERE is little to say about Hawaiian morals for they 
are few and far between. 

In early times, female virtue was not found in the 
Hawaiian vocabulary or scarcely anywhere else. 
They had a plurality of husbands and wives which nearly 
equalled high society in our finest seaside resorts. A woman 
with many husbands would live with six husbands—but not all 
at once—the house was too small. However, she was a good 
wife, doing the best she could by living with her lords one at 
a time in numerical or alphabetical order, though this was 
hardly the order that was heaven’s first law. 

The marriage ceremony was very unceremonious. Low 
ideals required no high church wedding. The chief’s cere¬ 
mony was more formal. Instead of joining hands they joined 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


241 


noses. The wedding trousseau was not elaborate and the serv¬ 
ice was soon over. Her lover threw a piece of tapa cloth over 
her, and instead of throwing shoes, the wedding guests threw 
a big tapa cloth over both. Naturally such a tie was loose, one 
could get a divorce easier than at Reno. No lawyer was neces¬ 
sary to hire spies, to lie about or to lie in wait to discover a 
wife’s character. The old Hawaiians were never so heathen 
to hire lawyers. Among their ancient Gods, Wakea is said to 
have divorced his wife by spitting in her face. Perhaps his 
wife was a spit-fire. These domestic spats, if printed, would 
make interesting reading. Speaking of spitting, the Hawaiian 
legend is to the effect that their race was created from divine 
expectoration. 

There were marriages of ranks as well as rank marriages, 
because position in society all depended on the mother. Were 
she queenly, her son would be high born and noble, though the 
father might be the chauffeur. If a high chief descended to 
marry a low, common woman (and most were very common), 
the children were low-brows and low breeds and could not suc¬ 
ceed to the father’s rank. Incest was in style among the high¬ 
est reigning families, and brothers and sisters fell in love with 
each other and married for political reasons to raise babies of 
the highest rank. 

Leap year proposals were in vogue. No man was safe from 
a woman’s plot. She popped the question, beseeching him to 
take her just as she was, for bare love. In better regulated 
families the brothers and relatives of the woman cast about for 
a desirable match, had the parties mated, and made good bar¬ 
gains in exchange presents. 

Few chiefs ever achieved anything much or very great. 
Was it because there is some truth in the cynical proverb, “God 
sent woman in the world so that man could not do great 
things?” 

Polygamy, polyandry and concubinage, three of a kind, are 
of gross character and were prevalent. One of Hawaiian’s best 
historians balks on the subject, saying it was unfit to be de¬ 
scribed in his book. 

Missionary zeal was not always according to the knowledge 
of human nature. The missionaries refused to marry natives 
who were unable to read their wedding licenses or write their 


242 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


names on it. That was a higher literary test than we have now. 
Fortunately this prohibition was not enforced on our first Papa 
Adam and Mother Eve in the garden of Eden. Since most 
Hawaiians were in the dunce class, and could not say their 
a, b, c’s, or spell or read, they were in a class by themselves, 
and under the spell of magic love, they just sneaked out and 
grabbed a girl, living happily ever afterwards without the 
bother of a license or paying the officiating clergyman or judge 
a five or ten spot. 

Infanticide has always prevailed against God’s, “Thou 
shalt not kill.” In Hawaii the natives were too lazy to rear 
their young, so baby-killing became a pastime. Instead of 
sending them to the kindergarten, parents sent them to the 
grave. It was estimated that two-thirds of those born were 
buried alive in the homes of their parents. “Arms and the 
man” was their epic. Most of the children were males and 
were spared to fight, the girls being killed off as expensive, un¬ 
necessary luxuries. It was common for a father to give away 
a son, or a mother a daughter, or both to anyone willing to 
adopt them. This was an easy way to get rid of a family or 
raise one ready made. Those they did permit to live might 
often as well have died, for they were permitted to go to the 
dogs. Natives today gladly give away their children. 

The idea of it being more blessed to give than to receive 
had wide application. Age brought no respect. When children 
grew tired of their aged mother or grandfather, instead of 
sending them to the country to rest or placing them in a home 
for the aged, they abandoned them or killed them. Often the 
insane were stoned to death. What an excellent plan to save 
trouble and money! We are so much like the ancient Ha¬ 
waiians in our present day civilization, why may we not adopt 
their plans? It would save public taxes by not erecting asylums 
and charitable institutions. I hope the savages in Europe at. 
the Peace Conference will incorporate this in their league of 
nations. The great Scientist Darwin said it was impossible to 
describe or paint the difference between the savage and civilized 
man. I can’t see why, they are often so nearly alike one can 
scarcely note the difference. 

Ancient Hawaiian life was very dull. To offer human sac¬ 
rifices to the gods, or go out and kill their enemy and eat his 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


243 


heart, was too monotonous. Since there were no movies, base¬ 
ball or soda fountains playing then, they spent a pleasant even¬ 
ing often as follows. The following social items are quoted 
verbatim from The Tapa Times: 

“Mr. and Mrs. Kiiremall entertained their friends last 
night at their grass hut on the beach by burying alive their 
youngest daughter. Awa was drunk, poi and fish were served, 
stories were told. Then a hole was dug in the dirt floor. The 
father, who is running as aldermanic candidate from the first 
ward, made some comforting and complimentary remarks, put 
his child with one hand into the grave, and shoveled in dirt 
with the other. The mother recited a poem especially written 
for the occasion, entitled, ‘ Our Darling is gone, but the Heaven¬ 
ly Father will send us another. ’ The religious hula was then 
given, and the festivities were continued until the early dawn .’ 1 

The Hawaiians loved luxuries and had an epicurean taste. 
We read of menus of baked dog, and when prepared by their 
chefs, rats and mice were a rare delicacy. Why they did not 
save food and win their wars by dressing up the baby for a 
meal, is explainable only on account of the dark, uncivilized 
state of their society. I am surprised there was no great 
genius among them like Swift with a “Modest Proposal ’’ for 
the well-being of the state by eating the children and thus 
saving private and public expense. 

Prenatal murder as a fine art was not original with them, 
and though extensively practised, it had not reached its high¬ 
est perfection as in modern, white civilized society. The 
Hawaiian abortion practise was not such a flourishing medical 
profession as now, but was by no means rare. The visitor to the 
Bishop Museum will see in one of the cases a rude catheter. 

But the white man comes and brings a change—for the 
worse. We cannot paint the white man black enough for what 
he did. Tabus were bad and booze worse. The white man in¬ 
troduced the native to his diseases and vices. Those Hawaiians 
not wiped out, have been gradually lessened, either by sterility 
caused by vice, or by melancholy at the loss of their islands and 
their friends. Singing and dancing were held as sins by the 
missionaries. People found guilty of adultery and fornication 
were imprisoned in forts, put to hard labor, and as a mark of 
shame the women criminals were forced to work with wreaths 


244 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


of flowers crowning their head. Picture it! Flowers, sweet and 
pure, used as emblems of shame. The cabbage heads who plan¬ 
ned this punishment should have been decorated with a crown of 
cabbage leaves. Reformation takes time and this was so sud¬ 
den. Something should have taken the place of what was re¬ 
moved, but it was not done. As a result, the native despaired 
and died, and the missionaries came, as it were, to pronounce 
a funeral sermon on the death of a race. It was bane, ratsbane, 
more than blessing. 


IMMORAL PRESENT 

NE day at high noon, not night, I saw several women 
bathing at Waikiki beach. All they had on was a 
holoku nightgown that was as good as nothing when 
wet. Three white male strangers sauntered up from 
the nearby hotel, waded in. threw their arms around the girls 
and were guilty of divers familiarities. The girls didn’t ob¬ 
ject to the conduct of the boys. I couldn’t help seeing or 
' thinking whether the fishes swam away or stayed and blushed 
all colors. Here was a “freedom of the seas” I refer to the 
naval board for diplomatic discussion. 

No wonder people came to these islands. Hawaiian hos¬ 
pitality was such that the traveler was welcome to his house, 
without formal invitation, to eat, drink, and stay all night, and 
it was discourteous for the father not to offer his daughter or 
the husband his wife. A resident told me that his Hawaiian 
guide offered him his wife because he wanted a child half-white, 
“hapa-howli.” In an address at the Ad Club on the subject, 
“Father and Son,” I said a son could not obey the Bible, 
“Honor thy father and thy mother,” unless his father married 
a woman he could honor; that the child had a right to be well¬ 
born and not be ashamed of his parents; that it was a wise son 
who knew his own father in Honolulu; that I saw children in 
the islands of every shade and color from black to cream; that 
the Havraiians ran to color; that it was a shame for married 
men to chase around and capture women other than their 
wives. I spoke on the subject assigned me and in harmony with 
human law and divine gospel teachings. However, it seems 
X impinged on the rights of the people of Honolulu, a large 





HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


245 


number of whom believe in Woman’s Exchange, the exchange 
of women. A prominent citizen remarked to me that his 
daughter said any man who talked as I had should be tarred, 
feathered and driven out of the islands. To break the Seventh 
Commandant is right—to preach against its violation is wrong. 
The man who says differently might as well buy his steamer 
ticket for the next boat and leave this city that combines the 
climate of Paradise with the pleasures of hell. Virtue is an in¬ 
sular oddity—vice an engrossing occupation. 

The hypocritical Honolulans shut up the red-light district 
with the result, as in other cities, that the whole town became 
a sporting-house. This is no exaggerated statement. I met a 
certain police official, who, before he knew who I was, disclosed 
the lax conditions of the city, and said it was a mistake to shut 
up the district since vice was scattered all over the town. To 
prove it, he offered to take me out one night to see for myself. 
When he learned who I was, he suddenly became very busy, and 
had no time, although I was in the city several months. One 
of the reasons for closing the district was said to be that the 
U. S. soldiers were contracting the dope habit from the women 
of the underworld. But the girls were not all shipped back to 
the U. S. some remained. I heard a government physician 
advise a man not to permit his Jap servant girl to take a posi¬ 
tion near the soldier barracks because moral conditions were 
very bad. Ninety per cent of the soldiers in the hospitals are 
afflicted with venereal diseases. 

In Italy I found the “cicisbeo,” the man who dangles 
around married women. They have the same insect here by an¬ 
other name. It isn’t an unusual thing to find prominent, monied 
society women riding around in autos with gentlemen admirers 
other than their husbands. Recently good women were afraid 
to be seen in an auto or street-car at night for fear of being 
blackmailed by a gang of toughs who were keeping tab on every¬ 
body. At public entertainments profligate women are given 
public positions and parts through some financial or political 
pull. It is notorious that leading political appointments in 
Honolulu are made without any regard for mpral character. It 
would make even Democritus, the laughing philosopher, weep. 
As well put a devil in a pulpit as a syphilitic on the health 
board. 


246 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


At a meeting I attended it was suggested by a local min¬ 
ister that it would be a beautiful thing for some of Hawaii’s 
“grand old men,” who are still living, to visit the public 
schools so the Hawaiian children might learn about them. It 
is unnecessary, they already know too much about some of 
them in respect to filthy lucre and life. 

A leopard cannot change his spots, nor a sea port its morals. 
There is no such open violation of moral laws as in the days of 
the whalers at Lahaina and Honolulu, yet immorality flagrant¬ 
ly exists. It causes little comment to read in the papers that boat 
crews, returning from Honolulu to ’Frisco, are punished for 
harboring on their boats, while in this tropical port, women of 
the underworld. An U. S. official custom-officer laughed when 
I asked him if conditions were not better since the closing of 
the district. I He said that whereas the Hawaiians of old gave 
away their virtue, now it was sold; that the Portuguese girls 
had been the last to hold out, but that now all that was neces¬ 
sary was to tempt them with a five-dollar gold piece or less, and 
they would fall for it. 

x Talk with taxi drivers and learn how fast things are and 
what it costs. It is a night side line of theirs to carry couples 
beyond city limits to park or hill, not to see scenery, or to get 
inspiration for a poem or painting, but to worship and sacrifice 
their bodies on love’s altar. Thus do car and carnality run 
together. Moses and his Ten Commandments never seemed to 
have been heard of in some of the plantations. I am writing 
with a hard pencil, but it would be soft and smutty if it had 
to relate what I was told by men who lived on plantations, in 
respect to the lust of men towards Japanese servants. 

In Oriental sections of Hilo and Honolulu, the Jap pro¬ 
prietor sells a little fruit out in front to a young man for a 
quarter, and forbidden fruit in the form of his wife in the 
back of the store for a dollar. Somie of the large hotels in the 
island have little better reputations than the small dens, dives 
and houses of ill-repute. My son and I stopped at a downtown 
hotel one night where bepainted dames were hanging around 
the elevators and haunting the corridors. The slippered feet of 
these girls were heard all night shuffling in the halls. Many 
beach hotels are little more than palatial houses of prostitution. 
Here as elsewhere polished people have thir morals all sand* 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


247 


papered away. The managers know it, everyone in town 
knows it and who cares! Money talks and says, “Shut up.” 

The moral atmosphere is not as chemically pure as the 
climate. According to some ethnologists here, there is no such 
thing as a pure Hawaiian in race or virtue. To affirm that 
Filipinos and Japs are moral is to say that which is not true. As 
to whites, that reminds me of the time I was to preach to a col¬ 
ored church when the pastor said, in introducing me, “Brod- 
der Morrill is a white man, but God knows his heart is black 
enough.” That was and is no lie. 

FIGHTING THE DEVIL 

HE Palama Settlement is a moral oasis in a desert of 
wickedness. It is a foster-parent for children whose 
mothers are poor, have little home accommodation, or 
are out of work. I saw the little ones in their kinder¬ 
garten at play, and at noon seated at the little tables with their 
simple wholesome meal; the bathing pool and dispensary for 
the older ones, and was attracted by the nursery and the nurses. 
In all its good Samaritan work it merits Honolulu’s support and 
heaven’s well done. 

The Filipino Mission fills a large place in the heart and 
help of its people. The quarters are small but the worker’s 
interest is large and very important for their race work. 

The Salvation Army as usual, here or over there, is a hell- 
extinguisher. It fries doughnuts, seeks to save the down and 
outer’s body and soul, and is always and everywhere an army 
that must_ never be demobilized in its fight against humanity’s 
Hun, the Devil. We visited the hillside quarters, saw the 
young boys wrestling in the gymnasium while their older 
brothers were wrestling with problems at school. In the girls’ 
section the girls were making the finest bread and doing the 
whitest laundry. They have a band that is in loud demand. Its 
notes and fame have been heard around the islands like the 
wonderful legendary shell that was heard from Kauai echoing 
over the hills. 

The Y. M. C. A. on the corner is the cornerstone on which 
some of the best and biggest Christian work and philanthropy 
for the young men has been builded. It has classes for all 






248 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


classes and colors and any one may dive and swim in the big 
plunge and be clean. It is a clearing-house for phyiscal exer¬ 
cise, mental training and spiritual equipment. You may read, 
lounge, listen to music, and lunch at noon in its cafeteria when 
you are tired of course dinners at hotels; of the pasty poi, the 
tough squid, the boney fish, the salt seaweed of Hawaiian luaus; 
and are sick of the tea, rice and ratty, squirmy, wormy dishes 
of the Chink and Jap restaurants. Mr. Floyd Emmans, able, 
amiable and accommodating, is the financial secretary. I knew 
him in Minneapolis and he is mighty nice when you are far 
from home and “when a feller needs a friend/’ 

LITERARY MASTERPIECES 

HE following is a local letter for Y. M. C. A. help: 
“To the manager of the Y. M. C. A. 

My dear Sir: 

Although I may not seen you yet, or you did not see me 
yet, I do all my heart to expacte to try to address you by the 
mail whether you may not trust to me, that this is not bad to 
you. Excuse me for thousand time, if this make is to you 
wrong. I only supposing to ask you. for anything if you will 
please do all your pity, and help me, to find or look a job for 
your own charge. I am living at Richard St. No. 745 and i 
discharge from service on third of this month I am living here 
at Honolulu without anything doing, and also that I am almost 
afraid to stand like this. 

“So sir I beg your great consideration to be grant my own re¬ 
quest, and please turn your eyes to me, and pity me. 

“I include this two recommendation to my letter so as to show 
you sir, how honest I get. 

“That all what I might tell you sir, and hoping to wait for 
your earlys replly to me. Please send it over again to me this 
a recommendation as soon as you may get them to your hand. 

“Yours trullv obedient, 

“ . . . . Felix Castro.... 

“Richard St No. 745. 

“Honolulu, T. H.” 









HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


249 


Here is another literary masterpiece: 

4 ‘Dear Fren. 

“i got the valve which i buy from you alrite, but 
why for god §ake you doan send me no handle, i loose to me 
my customer sure thing you no treat me rite, is my money nots so 
good to you as the other fella. I wat ten days and my customer he 
holler for water like hell fer the valve, you know he is a hot 
summer and the wind he the mill, the valve he got no handle 
pretty quick is send her back and i goan order some valve from 
Kean Companyes 

“Good-bye, your fren 
“Antonia Scalamina Dutre 

since i rite i find the Goddam handle in the box, excuse me.” 
WITHERING LEAVES 

E 1 visited the home for the aged Hawaiians. Pity 
their sorrows, for there is no fountain of youth 
where they may drink and be young again. The 
home is simply for the natives and very simple, com¬ 
paring but poorly with similar institutions in the States, and 
with what they deserve. Here was a real museum of living an¬ 
tiquities. They lay on bed or floor, walked in the grounds or 
through coridiors, sat on the chairs or steps, all lame, halt or 
blind. We carried a box of candy to sweeten their bitter mem¬ 
ories, for it appeared that the place was a sort of laboratory 
where the authorities were experimenting to learn how little 
food could sustain human life—how few clothes were neces¬ 
sary and how long a cheap suit would last. There was an old 
mad women dead at the top, crouched in a corner and scratch¬ 
ing her head; another who was featherbrained, believed she was 
ex-royal, and was making feather work to sell. Strange to find 
the frigidity of congealed blood in the tropics, and human 
shadows in the land of sunshine. 

There was a man gray and bowed who was growing 
crazier every day—one of the saddest sights in the world. I 
talked to the manager who wearily watches this remediless 
woe. These people, withered leaves from life’s tree, have been 
raked up here in a pile. Such old, dried and decayed fruit 








250 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


on life’s tree none but Death will pluck. There are old men 
here—soon another old man will come, white and bent, carry¬ 
ing a scythe, and he will be most welcome. 

This home is the last station of the journey—may they 
soon enter the Promised Land of rest. The old natives are 
devout and preparing for this last change. They hold daily, 
religious services. I paused to listen to a plaintive Gospel 
song and to look at the woman who led the devotion. In the 
faces of these Hawaiians I read, as in an old book or wrinkled 
parchment, the poetry, comedy and tragedy of the Hawaiian 
islands, their poverty, sickness, pain and woe. 


FAREWELL TO HAWAII. 


AWAll is a paradise but I never saw so many people 
trying to get away from it. They offered extra 
money to ticket agents, threatened them, tried to be 
stowaways and eyed those who had tickets as if they 
would like to rob them. We managed to secure ship room be¬ 
cause our tickets had been purchased six months before. 

The S. S. “Makura” came in two and one-half days late 
because her crew was so drunk in New Zealand that she had 
to lie out in the harbor till they sobered up. When she finally 
docked, U. S. officials stopped me and required a statement 
that I was not carrying away gold. Silly! Didn’t they know 
better than to ask a traveler for gold who had made the tour 
of the islands, and spent a month in Honolulu? I knew the 
islanders wanted money, yet didn’t expect to be held up at 
the gang. 

There were many people to see us off—glad to get rid of 
us, doubtless. They bedecked us with leis, flags, pennants and 
flowers, till I resembled Bottom, in “Midsummer Night’s 
Dr6am, ” whom the fairy queen Titania and fairies crowned 
with flowers. With alohas of farewell, our ship moved out 
into the night, and soon the fairy vision of Honolulu had 
vanished. 




HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


251 


THE LOG OP THE “MAKURA.” 

HE boat wasn’t large as the passenger list. I doubt 
whether the Ark was more crowded, and I am sure 
there were some specimens of animals Noah never heard 
of. We paid first-class and were lucky to get a third- 
class steward’s cabin. There were new-fangled life-preservers 
in the cabin with old instructions for putting them on. I tried 
to fit mine by the instructions given, but it didn’t fit, and I con¬ 
cluded I could drown quicker with it than without it. I told the 
captain my difficulty and he said they had given an exhibition of 
how to fit it at Auckland, New Zealand. I reminded him that 
some of us boarded his boat at Honolulu and there was a lot of 
water between there and Vancouver. This was gross, crim¬ 
inal negligence. 

Music, dancing, eating, drinking, carousing and hilarity 
filled all hours of the night and many were unable to sleep, 
yet nothing was done about it. When I sat down to the piano 
in the music-room about nine-thirty A. M., at the request of 
my friends, I had scarcely struck a chord, and that softly, 
before a florid-faced steward rushed up, placed his hand on 
mine and grunted, “No music, sir, please, it’s the captain's 
orders. He doesn’t like to be disturbed at this time.” Bars 
of music were not permitted this early, but bars of booze in 
every part of the ship were wide open day and night. 

One evening, after a rather “ripping” dance, there was an 
unscheduled fight. A passenger accused a military officer of 
having insulted his lady friend. They struck each other, 
clenched, and it looked as if one would throw the other over 
the rail, or both go down together. A dancer fainted and they 
were only stopped when the captain said he would put them 
in irons if they didn’t quit. Twenty minutes later at dinner 
the captain rose and talked of the “harmony” of the trip. 

Another evening there was a pageant where American 
Liberty appeared with a cigaret in her mouth instead of a 
torch in her hand. The part was taken by a “Laidy” from 
N. Z., who spent much time and money in the smokeroom sip¬ 
ping cocktails, playing cards and puffing cigarets. Later high 
society passengers boarded a Continental train and were quite 






252 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


indignant, “well rather,” that they were not permitted to sit 
in the sleeper and smoke. “My word,” they left an exam¬ 
ple for age and youth to avoid. 

Australians and New Zealanders do not drink so much by 
the hour as by the week. Their life on the boat would re¬ 
quire a good mathematician to determine how much time was 
required to do nothing. Their daily exercise was from one 
bar to another. How profound and philosophic they looked 
over their whiskeys and sodas! They spent their time pass¬ 
ing drinks and remarks against Americans. A passenger 
told me that he left the smoke room to keep from hitting a 
Sydneyite who had the usual atrabilious, antipodal antipathy 
to Americans. The kangaroo man jumped up on his hind legs 
and said that all Americans loved and lived for was gold; 
that after we had squeezed all we could out of the world at 
the beginning of the war, we went in, and then only at the 
eleventh hour; had done but very little, and now President 
Wilson was having as much to say as though he had whipped 
Germany with one hand. The Canadians on board were 
different. Open, genial and generous in their conduct and re¬ 
marks of Americans, they bore with modesty the honor of the 
splendid service they had rendered the Allies. 

A distinguished Australian officer took me quietly aside 
and asked whether Americans had a “religious problem” to 
deal with. I told him yes, that it was growing bigger every 
day, and it was only a question of time when it would be 
settled and settled right. He said they had a problem in 
Australia; that there would soon be but two parties, Protestant 
and Roman Catholic; that a servant, who was to have accom¬ 
panied him to Iiondon, was ordered by his priest not to go, 
for they would need him down there, since a religious war 
was ominous and he must stay and fight for “the church.” 
This “Reverend Father” church had fought English con¬ 
scription in Australia, Eastern Canada and Southern Ireland, 
and was willing to help Germany, because of her hate of Eng¬ 
land. The church would now give Ireland a so-called “Home 
rule” to put a club in Dublin’s hands to beat Belfast and the 
North, which had been loyal to England, and had given her most 
of the Irish men and money during the war. 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


253 


CANADIAN CITIES 

E had left the land of sunshine for the land of fog, 
exchanging gardens for glaciers, and halcyon shores 
for mist-drenched hills. It grew colder every 
day, and two days before reaching Victoria it looked 
as if the Ancient Mariner’s boat had been cruising about here 
and killing albatross, “the bird that brought the fog and 
mist.” The “Makura” was helpless as a man in a London 
fog. The siren sang till it was hoarse, extra men were put 
on watch, they cast the lead, then stopped, for the lightship 
loomed ahead and we were soon in the straits of Juan de Fuca. 
Before reaching Victoria we were introduced to the monarch 
mountains robed in purple light and ermine snow. The blues 
and purples in sky, mountain and strait, were cold and clammy 
like the colors of a drowned man, or of a dirty typewriter 
carbon sheet. 

At midnight we touched Victoria and custom and baggage 
officials boarded to inspect and check the luggage to avoid 
loss of time next morning at Vancouver, at which city we lost 
no time, though the C. P. R. did lose one of our trunks which 
took ten days to find. 

We set out to explore this city named after the English 
explorer. Vancouver must be doing well, for in spite of strike 
and prohibition there seemed to be a bank on every other 
street corner. The people drink in sunshine and rain, and the 
tow r n will continue wet in spite of any dry law. During our 
stay the climate felt more suitable for seals and polar bears 
than human beings. A trolley took us to the city outskirts 
where time-eaten, weather-worn houses suggested that B. C. 
stood for “Before Christ.” 

Merlon Emmans is the star jazz band virtuoso of Van¬ 
couver. The last time I saw him w T as in New Zealand. As a 
musician he knew a good time and conducted us by ferry and 
auto to Capialano Canyon, passing Indian reservation with 
natives in modern dress, and lordly trees all blossoming out 
with bright, yellow, chewing-plug-tobacco signs. At the can¬ 
yon we walked and swung across the ravine on a suspension 
bridge. The deep gorge, rushing water, quiet woods and giant 
trees are unforgettable. 





254 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Later we visited the village of Westminster which vividly 
suggests the story of the man who stopped over at Lonely- 
ville, Nowhere, and spent several days in roaming around. 
Finally some of the inhabitants, who had nothing to do, be¬ 
came suspicious and asked him why he_was there. He re¬ 
plied he had been a thief, had been arrested, taken to court and 
sentenced to six years in jail, or two weeks in this village, and 

he was d-sorry that he had not gone to jail. I have been 

to Westminster Abbey with its famous dead—the dead here 
are not in that class. 

The country runs to wood; the prehistoric pullman we 
rode in, and the heads of the men who lost our trunk, were 
wooden. Soon trivial things were forgotten when we saw 
the Canadian Kockies, our old time friends who never die, 
never change, and are always where you can find them. Yet 
we were sorry to miss one glacier, the gain of a tunnel being the 
loss of a frozen Niagara. 

MOUNTAINS 

OW flat this world would be without mountains. 
Have you not often wished to climb into the sky 
as the Titans did? Enceladus piled Ossa on Pelion 
like a brickmason, as evenly as a child does building 
The little hills we find so hard to mount the Titans 
used as balls in a bowling alley. In those days Jove used 
mountains as paper weights or ball and chain. He pursued 
Typhon for threatening his rule, overthrew him and used 
Mount Etna to hold him down. 

Blessed be he who builded the mountains! 

One should write on a mountain top to get away from low 
ideals. He should pile up words, haye lofty thoughts and 
indite in a breezy style. 

Mountains are the culmination of creation; an escape from 
the deluge of humanity; altar stairs to God; the warts on 
the face of the world. 

Mt. Olympus was a fit seat for the gods. They had high 
times and set a bad example eating, drinking, carousing and 
chasing around, setting an immoral picnic precedent for god- 


H 



blocks. 







HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


255 


less parties now found in mountain resorts. Homer wrote up 
the scandalous high society of Olympus in his “Odyssey.” 

“Three Weeks,” or longer in the mountains, makes one 
acquainted with strange things. Wives and husbands here¬ 
tofore good and exemplary, run great risks and violate the 
precepts of Moses’ mountain commandments and Christ’s Ser¬ 
mon on the Mount. 3 

The Matterhorn and other peaks are difficult to scale, but 
the poetic Parnassus is the most impossible and impassable. 
The worst bucking broncho is Pegasus. What a show he has 
made of many who mounted him only to dismount. The 
swamp, and not the mountain top, is the place for croaking 
frogs. Too many poets wake the lyre only to put their audience 
asleep. 

Atlas was a rich old farmer with lots of hogs at high prices 
and many Fords to go to market. His most paying crop was 
golden apples on golden branches half hid by golden leaves. 
Perseus came round one night and asked for supper and an 
easy chair to lie in. Atlas remembered an old scare thrown 
into him, that some son of a gun or of Jove would come around 
and swipe his golden apples, and he said, “Nothing doing— 
get out or I’ll sic the dog on you!” He lifted up his number 
ten to give him a kick, whereupon Perseus took the Gorgon’s 
head out of his overalls pocket and shoved it into Atlas’ face, 
carefully averting his own. Atlas was turned into stone, his 
hair and beard became forests, his arms and shoulders cliffs, 
his head a summit, and his bones rocks. He got the big head— 
other parts swelled up till he became a mountain, and the 
gods spangled him out with heaven and its stars on his 
shoulders until he resembled a New York policeman. 

Anciently hard-hearted men were turned into mountains of 
stone. Helicon and Cithaeron were two brothers, one kind and 
generous, the other cruel and avaricious. Cithaeron tried to 
get all the family property for himself, and to do this, de¬ 
stroyed his father and threw his brother down a precipice, 
but went down and over with him. By the will of the gods 
the two brothers were changed into two mountains. Cithae¬ 
ron, because of his wicked impiety, became the abode of the 
Furies, while the nine old maids, or Muses, chose Helicon for 
their bungalow because of his gentle and loving nature. 


256 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


Mountains are matters of life and death. Had it not been 
for Ararat, on which Noah warped into dock, you and I would 
be saved reading and writing this book. If the Andes were 
on the Atlantic side, South America would be a Sahara desert. 

Jupiter used the rock of the Caucasus to pillory Prome¬ 
theus for petty larceny. This is what any man receives who 
foolishly attempts to aid his fellows. To make it worse, Pro¬ 
metheus had a bad case of liver complaint and a vulture was 
his physician. 

Long ago there was a beauty show contest on Mount Ida 
which ended in a fight and the Trojan war. What else could 
be expected when Paris was judge and passed up the wise 
MineiWa and rich Juno, giving the golden apple, for the fair¬ 
est, to Venus, because he was infatuated with her shape and 
beauty. Morals were the same then as now. He skipped off 
with Menelaus’ wife and so started the Trojan war. One of 
the worst features and most terrible consequences of this war 
was that Greek Homer and Latin Virgil wrote about it, and 
we were compelled to translate their war-correspondent 
accounts. 

Suicide is made inviting by mountains. Byron’s “Man¬ 
fred” tried to jump off a mountain; and Matthew Arnold has 
a dramatic poem, “Empedocles on Aetna,” which ends with 
Empedocles in Aetna—for he became plunged in melancholy 
thought and plunged into the crater. 

Mountain peaks are very dangerous—one can never tell 
what may happen. There was the poor shepherd Endymion 
on Mount Latmus, whom Diana gave a chaste kiss and Keats 
such heart-beats that he wrote four books about the oscu¬ 
lation. 

Mountains are in music and Wagner sings the “Tann- 
hauser” story of “Venusberg and its castle.” Here Holda 
took refuge and ran a roadhouse full of naked nymphs and 
sensual sirens. Those who came never left, but the police 
winked at the joint, and there was no morgue where relatives 
could come and identify the dead. I have traveled over this 
Wartbbrg country, immortalized by- Luther and Wagner. The 
girls were gone, Luther dead and Walter, Elizabeth, Wolf rum 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


257 


and Tannhauser could only be found behind the bars of Wag¬ 
ner’s music. 

Grieg gives us sound descriptions of the “Hall of the 
Mountain Kings/’ with goblins gamboling around. I visited 
his home in Bergen and felt some of the thrill and chill which 
blew in on me and made me wrap up to keep warm. 

Among the Hartz mountains in the Brocken, Goethe found 
witches and he-goats whirling along over stick and stone, 
while Heine, in the Hartz mountains, found his heart’s desire 
by making love to a bewitching mountain girl. 

In Olive Schreiner’s dream of the “Hunter,” a man dies 
searching for truth in the mountain. He was told he must 
leave the valley of superstition alone and wander down into 
the land of absolute negation and desire; must abide there; 
must resist temptation; when the light breaks he must rise 
and follow it into the country of dry sunshine. The mountains 
of stern reality will rise before him; he must climb them; 
beyond them lies truth. In search for truth, he moiled, toiled, 
climbed, was laughed at and stoned by the people in the val¬ 
ley. He spent all his time making a mountain path and rocky 
stairs and stones for others to climb. He showed ho white 
feather, but at last dying, all he clasped in his hand was a 
feather from the w r hite bird of truth. I’m sorry he died. If 
only he could have taken this white feather of truth and writ¬ 
ten w T ith it—so many writers use the goosequill of falsehood. 
Olive has drawn such a dismal picture of the truth-finder that 
she dissuades the majority of mankind from following his 
example. 

This is as disheartening as Hawthorne’s story of “The 
Great Carbuncle” in the mountain which was seen and sought 
for by all classes of people, the seeker, the alchemist, the mer¬ 
chant, the cynic, the poet, a lord, a young man and wife, with 
all sorts of motives. Some carbuncles are not hard to find. 
They are not on the brow of the mountain but on the back 
of your neck, and one on the neck causes far less trouble than 
the one on this fabled mountain. The seeker died of joy 
when he found it; the alchemist and poet made a mistake— 
the former getting a piece of granite in its stead, and the lat¬ 
ter a chunk of ice; the cynic was blinded when he saw it; 


258 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


the young lord missed it altogether, and the happy newly-weds 
returned to their home, saying they had seen it and would 
always have something to talk about to those who hadn’t. 
This ‘‘Great Carbuncle” by Dr. Hawthorne is not a treatise 
on a sore, but the diagnosis of a soul. 

City folks, call a man a fool who lives in the mountains. 
He may be, but a higher kind of one. Stevenson’s “Will o’ 
the Mill” may have been a plain man, but not of the plain. 
He preferred the companionship of the stars and to fish in 
his little mountain lake. If he didn’t come down to the city 
his fame did, and people came up to see the quaint mountain 
philosopher. Here he remained until his last caller came, 
Death, his best friend. He came with horses and carriage and 
gave Will his first real joy-ride. This was long ago—Death’s 
favorite vehicle now is the auto and aeroplane. 

Of old, mountains were the homes and haunts of gnomes, 
gods, goblins, witches and fiends, a very interesting set, com¬ 
pared with what we find on them to-day. Writers now tell us 
of Mr. Hairbreadth’s escape who climbed the mountain top; 
of trains of cog cars, instead of trains of spirits; of some new 
hotel, in lieu of an Olympian palace of the gods. Ruskin 
wrote the “King of the Golden River”—commercial maga¬ 
zines to-day show how you may go to the mountains, wash in 
a stream for gold and clean up a good pile. Mountain caves 
are no longer filled with fairies, but with tourist parties of 
heavy-set, homely dames. The naiads of mountain streams 
have been killed by factory chemicals; the only gnomes living 
in the mountains are stolid miners. There is no smoke from 
the dragon’s breath, only from shop or engine. Instead of 
signs of poetry and romances, there are signs advertising to¬ 
bacco and chewing gum. No disciples of Bacchus tramp the 
hills with the Thyrsus—just surveying parties with theodo¬ 
lites. And the nectar of the gods has been exchanged for poor 
beer in mountain resorts. 

Coleridge gives us his sublime hymn of love for Mount 
Blanc, calling it, “dread ambassador from earth to heaven”; 
“sovran of the vale”; “sky-pointing peaks”; “Thou kingly 
spirit enthroned among the hills.” I think he would write a 
hymn of hate if he saw how the Swiss Alps had been bored 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


259 


full of holes like their cheese, and defiled by man. A defile 
made by Nature in a mountain is wonderful—a mountain de¬ 
filed by man is not. 

Homer and Hesiod wrote of Jupiter on Olympus. Daudet 
writes of that flamboyant Frenchman “Tartarin of the Alps.” 
Shelley has some lines written in the Vale of Chamounix, but 
now unpoetical moderns over there think of nothing but rail¬ 
road lines and look for time tables. 

The mountains are nature’s cathedrals. The early Persian 
made the mountain top his high altar, and it was there that 
the revelation came to Zarathustra, Zoroaster, the star of gold. 
The Persians had the right idea. I have preached in many 
church pulpits, and listened to sermons in many churches, but 
was never nearer the Father in Heaven or felt such spiritual 
uplift as when I sat in the free pews of God’s granite, Gothic 
architecture of the world’s great mountains. Leave the sky¬ 
scraper tower of Babel. It is a poor substitute for a mountain. 
Leave the ravines of streets, and cave offices and go out to 
God’s mountains. 

Mountains are high fences in Europe between nations, mak¬ 
ing them foes not friends, and anxious and ready to fight when 
one gets over into their yard. As in every city there is a 
quarter where, people scrap, so Europe is that quarter of the 
globe where scraps are always going on, and nations will 
always make faces at each other over these mountain fences, 
because they have formed an eternal alliance with Satan whose 
heart is hate. Defoe’s “Political History of the Devil,” should 
be brought up to date with added chapters on the Peace Con¬ 
ference. 

Mountains are the walls of the earthly paradises—of the 
Vale of Cashmere and Vale of Tempe. The mountains I knew 
as a boy were on geography maps and marked like centipedes 
crawling over the page. I drew maps of mountains and coun¬ 
tries that were truthful representations of the world during 
creation. The world map was mine, though often it was as 
hard to locate all the mountains from memory as it was for 
Caesar, Hannibal and Napoleon to cross them. 

Mountains are the world’s first settlers, wrinkled of face, 
bald-headed or topped with snow-white hair. These old men 


260 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


carry their heads high in the air. They are immovable—Mo¬ 
hammed was compelled to go to the mountain. However, there 
are three records of mountain moving—Dame Nature with an 
earthquake; Caligula, the mad Roman Emperor, who pulled 
down a mountain and put a palace in its place; and modern 
engineering with faith in its machinery that picks up a moun¬ 
tain and casts it into the depths of the sea. 

Mountains look like the petrified remains af antediluvian 
monsters; they are work rooms for miners; playground for 
tourists; pastures for human cattle, sheep and goats; cloud- 
factories; battlements where lightning arrows shoot; prize- 
rings where clouds stage fights; a rockpile; a lumber yard; 
a resort of beasts, birds, bandits, bedlam witches and bards; 
a hunting ground for game, gold and God; Nature’s cold- 
storage manufacturing plant of glacier ice and snow; a set¬ 
ting for a billboard or religious shrine; Nature’s refreshment- 
stand of mineral water; the rocky cradle of liberty. 

Mountains of the moon are over 30,000 feet high and 
capped with snow. They are extinct volcanoes to us, how do 
our hills look to them? 

The mental world has mountain heights. In literature, 
Shakespeare; in music, Beethoven; in painting, Raphael; in 
statuary, Angelo. We are on the dead level—many who think 
they are on the Himalayas are just like cocks on their dung¬ 
hills. 

Like Byron’s pilgrim in “Childe Harold,” the man who 
climbs the high mountain finds it wrapped in cloud and snow. 
If you are way above your fellows in money, society, politics 
and even religion, you may expect chill comfort and the icy 
shoulder. There are political mountains of debt piled up on 
the U. S. map by the Democratic party. There are volcanoes 
of hate that sling mud and administration heads that rumble, 
smoke, and obscure issues. 

In “De Profundis” Wilde says that society, as constituted, 
will have no place for him, none to offer—“but Nature, whose 
sweqt rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in 
the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence 
I may weep undisturbed.” 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


261 


The Greeks placed the shrine of Apollo under the cliffs of 
Delhi. Under the influence of Spinoza, Auerbach left Mount 
Zion for Parnassus and wrote “On the Heights.” 

Mountains are thrones for deity and eternity, not for little 
men and anchorites. Men go up like the king of Prance lead¬ 
ing his soldiers and come down again. Mountains are the 
Eiffel tower on which we may look down on little man and 
the pptty squabbles of the world. Yet pygmies perched on 
Alps are pygmies still. Horace says in his “Art of Poetry/’ 
“The mountains are in labor—a foolish mouse will be brought 
forth.” 

The fool habit of mountain-climbing began in the Middle 
Ages. One man’s pleasure was another man’s peril. King 
Peter of Aragon climbed the Pyrenees for adventure. Half 
a century later Petrarch climbed Yentoux and wrote moral 
reflections on its scenery. The Emperor Maximillian loved to 
hunt the mountain chamois. Da Vinci climbed Monte Rosa 
for scientific observation. Since then Alpine and American 
clubs have flourished, many men and women have dared daqger 
and death to climb like steeple-jacks and slide like Kelleys. 

Like a llama I have climbed the Andes a number of times, 
and I was in the lap of an earthquake that shook me up and 
down. There are 8,000 miles of the Andes with pinnacles of 
snow; 51 volcanoes in the Andean chain and this range has 
sunk three times below ocean level. 

In climbing mountains some get frozen, dizzy, tired, lame 
necks, broken backs, old shoes and torn clothes—others get 
sublimity, grandeur, inspiration and beauty. 

From creation the mountain has been the “mount of God,” 
where God has revealed himself to man. We read that “when 
the fountains of the great deep were broken up,” and the 
world was destroyed, Noah and his family were saved, and 
the Ark rested safely moored on Ararat. Then Noah built an 
altar of praise and talked to God as to a friend who sealed 
his covenant with rainbow promise. 

Mount Moriah is crowned with the memory of Solomon’s 
Temple and the more recent Mosque of Omar. Of all its his¬ 
tory of ancient tragedy there is nothing that more strongly 
appeals to the devout mind than when Abraham lifted the 


262 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


knife to slay his only son Isaac, and his triumphant faith was 
rewarded with, “Spare thy son,” and a substitute was pro¬ 
vided. 

Sinai was where Jehovah dwelt when he called Moses to 
audience with Him, and, writing with lightning and speaking 
with thunder, gave him the laws for Israel and the coming 
Gentile world which were to lead them in religious and civil 
life for all time. 

Hor is the conical mountain with isolated peak looking 
towards the Dead Sea. It was the burial place of the great 
high priest Aaron, spokesman and helper of Moses who 
brought Israel out of Egypt, and the resting place of Aaron 
who could hold his peace when his two sons were slain. Yet 
he sinfully made a golden calf at Sinai, plotted with Miriam 
against Moses, with Moses disobeyed God at Kadesh and was 
forbidden entrance to the Promised Land. 

Pisgah, with its lonely Nebo summit, was where Moses 
stood alone and viewed the Promised Land he could not en¬ 
ter. There God’s finger touched him and he slept, to open 
his eyes above. 

Horeb was where Elijah found refuge from Jezebel, in the 
cave of the mountain and was taught the presence of God 
from the wind, earthquake and fire, and the still small voice 
that nerved him to go bravely back to duty. 

Carmel is where Elijah and Elisha met the priests of Baal 
and slew them. 

Lebanon was famous for its forests of cedar for the Tem¬ 
ple and the timber that was shipped to Tyre and Sidon. 

Zion was the hill on which Jerusalem was built—the moun¬ 
tain that inspired David’s harp, and where the Romans held 
murderous sway. 

Tabor is the mount from whose top one sees valley and 
plain, the glint of the Mediterranean sea, the gleam of Galilee, 
the fertile plain of Esdraelon, Mount Carmel and Gilboa, 
Nazareth and Jordan. It is the Mount of Transfiguration 
where the past of Moses and Elias mingled with the present 
of Jesus, and where from the bright cloud overhead came the 
voi/?e, “This is my beloved sob, in whom I am well pleased, 
hear ye him.” 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


263 


Olivet is that Waterloo of the world where the Prince of 
Light wrestled with Darkness and gained the victory with 
the, “It is written” against the temptation to self-preservation, 
self-confidence and self-aggrandizement. 

The Sermon on the Mount was preached from a fit pulpit 
by Him whose preaching, for style, substance, sweetness, 
strength, sublimity and spirituality, shall endure until this 
great granite globe melts with fervent heat. 

Calvary w r as the world’s loftiest mountain, for by its lad¬ 
der of the cross we may step from earth to heaven. 

David, at the departure of Israel from Egypt, makes all 
nature glad and saying, “The mountains skip like rams and 
the little hills like lambs.” Job declares God’s power, “He 
putteth his hand forth upon the rock, he overturneth the 
mountains by the roots.” Isaiah prophesies comfort to God’s 
people, declaring that in the day of his power, “Every valley 
shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made 
low.” This Hebrew prophet is poetical when speaking of 
mountains: “He comprehended the dust of the earth in a 
measure, and weighed the mountains in scales and the hills 
in the balance”; “Break forth into singing, ye mountains”; 
“Thou comest down, the mountains flowed down at thy 
presence.” 

In the last great day of the Revelation John sees the kings, 
the great, the rich, the chiefs, the mighty, the bond and free, 
hide themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the moun¬ 
tains—and they say to the mountains, and rocks—“Fall on 
us, and hide us from the face of him who sitteth on the throne ; 
and from the wrath of the lamb; for the great day of his 
wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand.” 

Ruskin in his “Gloom of the Mountains,” declares moun¬ 
tains are teachers and friends; are cloud-curtained pinnacles; 
are frail as shadow yet full of power; are high above all sor¬ 
row and yet witnesses of it; are causes of gloom to gloomy 
minds. They are hills to help, but misled man builds altars 
of idle sacrifice on very high hill. Ruskin draws a dark pic¬ 
ture of low people in high places. The snake and eagle both 
reach the top of a mountain; so may the good and bad, but 
too often the peaks of preferment are reached by the bad. 


264 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


He said mountains were the beginning and end of all nat¬ 
ural scenery. Flat places like Holland were a prison to him, 
mountains a perpetual paradise. He preferred a granite stone 
and two leaves of lady-fern to the gardens of Alcinous with 
their perpetual summer, or the gardens of Hesperides. The 
mountains have a supremacy of color over the low lands. 
Mountain trees talk, sing, dance, hide and climb. Mountains 
are schools and cathedrals built for the human race with 
gates of rock, cloud pavements, choirs of streams, altars of 
snow, vaults of purple traversed by stars. 

He affirms mountains have exerted a hidden influence oil 
the progress of the race. They have helped give intellectual 
lead to religion, art, war and literature, and social economy 
to the Greeks and Italians in Europe. The influence on reli¬ 
gious temperament and artistic power has been enormous, and 
we may learn in the mountain things of clouds and streams 
never taught in college. 

The mountain is the friend of the sun, moon and stars, the 
clouds and winds. Mountains are among my best friends in 
a wide range of acquaintances, I know them by name and 
sight and love to meet and greet them. T grow homesick for 
the company of the hills. 

Volcanoes shake warm hands of welcome. Mountains wave 
handkerchief of cloud, smile in vegetation on their sides, 
whisper in their forests and never move away or die. 

Hugh MacMillan feels the peace of the mountains, the 
sympathy between the moral and physical worlds, and speaks 
of the security, the elevation, the compensation, unification 
and isolation which mountains ever bring. 

According to Dante there are mountains in Hades to tem¬ 
per the tormented. In heaven I am sure there are mountains 
of highest joy to be climbed, mountains of faith, love and 
obedience. 

Bunyan’s pilgrim crawled out of the Slough of Despond 
and climbed the Delectable Mountains. Get out of the city 
mire of lucre, lies, laziness and lust and go^up into the Moun¬ 
tain of Transfiguration. And when you return to the lowlands 
of earth you will be less of a “heathen’’ than before. 



HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


265 


AMERICA 

E were soon out of Canada and home again in America 
—the land of the freak and the home of the grave! 
America, where free speech is gagged! America, where 
the press is muzzled! America, where church and 
state, heretofore separate, are being united in incestuous liaison! 
America, where capital and labor.strike for halters and liars! 
America, where law is lawless, judges are unjust and juries are 
a joke! America, where the voice of the slavering statesman and 
drooling demagogue, and the lash of the political taskmaster are 
heard abroad in the land! America, where the “inalienable 
rights’’ of lynched Negroes in the South and hundreds of mur¬ 
dered Americans in Mexico are not recognized! America, where 
“life, liberty and pursuit of happiness” is the pursuit of the 
many and the possession of the few! America, where vice is 
rewarded and virtue is punished! America, where under the 
guise of war measure patriotism the pockets of the public are 
picked by our Adminis“ traitors ”! America, where the democ¬ 
racy of Washington, Lincoln and Roosevelt has been exchanged 
for an Idiotocracy and Demagoguery! America, where we are 
expected to act the part of sickening sycophants, bow our heads 
and bend our hams to the self-made gods who have returned 
from wining, dining and swining at the Peace Table of Europe, 
and kowtow to military pomposities who wear a shoulder strap 
on one shoulder and a chip on the other. America, leagued up 
with a lot of foreign looters, liars and murderers! A nation is 
known by the company it keeps—Heaven forbid that Old Glory 
shall become Old Gory and the Flag a Rag! God declared His 
idea of a League of Nations, “Peace on earth, good will towards 
men,” that is, a good will that brings universal peace. But 
God’s ways are not man’s ways. The European League of Na¬ 
tions was born in hell, the Devil is its father, Greed its mother, 
Woodrow Wilgon, with his instrument of “fourteen points,” the 
doctor, and Jealousy the nurse. And this is the monstrous freak 
we are asked to rock in the Cradle of American Liberty! Amer¬ 
ica, where the Declaration of Independence and the Consti¬ 
tution are mere scraps of paper! America, where patriotism 
is the first refuge of a scoundrel! America, where the 
Flag at home covers a multitude of sinners and abroad is no 
protection to its citizens! America, where the American eagle 




266 


HAWAIIAN HEATHEN 


has had its tail feathers chewed off by the British lion! America, 
where the Capitol is a capital offense and the White House a 
whited sepulchre! America, where Congress is a coterie of crim¬ 
inals and congenital idiots! America, where the statue of Lib¬ 
erty is a hollow mockery! America, no longer the refuge of the 
oppressed but the refuse heap of Old World outcasts! America,' 
where the Ten Commandments are more honored in the breach 
than the observance! America, where the Mountain Sermon is 
sunk in a morass of commercialism! America, where a voting 
machine majority might makes right! America, where liberty, 
equality and fraternity have been superseded by slavery, inequal¬ 
ity and hate! America, where present apostles of freedom are 
patterned after Judas, the money-grabber! America, the land 
of movie Stars and penitentiary Stripes! America, where the 
public school, “the bright consummate flower” of our Eden is 
being gnawed by the parochial cutworm! America, where anar¬ 
chistic plotters and industrial oppressors sing, “Hell, Columbia, 
unhappy land!” 

“Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said, 

This is mine own, my native land! 

Whose heart hath ne’er within him turn'd” - 

with righteous wrath that just as Judas betrayed his Christ, and 
Benedict Arnold the Colonies, and Jefferson Davis the Union, so 
the United States of America have been basely betrayed by men 
“ who stole the livery of the court of Heaven to serve the Devil 
in.” 

“0 God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance!” 


-Thb End 




“ON THE WARPATH” 

By Rev. “Golightly” Morrill 

A savage attack in which human folly, stupidity, 
superstition, hypocrisy and injustice are 
shot full of arrows, tomahawked 
and scalped 

BREEZY—BOLD—BRILLIANT 

Striking Photos—258 Pages Full of “Pep” and 
Attic Salt—$1.00 Postpaid 

LITERARY T. N. T. 


The author’s adventures down South and out West in 
plantation, desert, mountain, island and sea-coast cities; the 
descriptions of the Red man, Yellow man, Brown man, 
White man and Black man, are just the thing for the man 
who is “blue.” His pen travels from the lowest vice-den 
to the loftiest patriotism—from the biggest ocean to the 
smallest politician. 

SOME OF THE CHAPTERS 


Fig-Leaf Fanatics, Arrested, Passports Confiscated, 
Centaurs, A Dethroned King, Masks, Moral Repairs, 
Echoes from Ecuador, Lynching—a Fine Art, Smuggling, 
Yaqui Atrocities, Under Ground, High Livers, The Des¬ 
ert, Fossil Forests, Soldiers’ Morals, In an Earthquake, 
Movie Madness, Climate Worshippers, A French Count¬ 
ess, Aboard a Pirate Ship, An Accomplished Archangel, 
A Chinese New Year, Beach Debauchery, Summer Fools, 
Painted Women, Club Life, On the Ocean, In Irons, Free 
Love Religion, Bones, No Man’s Land, Obscene Classics, 
Gag-Law, In Jail. 

PHOTOS 


LANDING A 500 POUND SEA BASS, ANCIENT 
CLIFF DWELLINGS, APACHE INDIANS, A 
FRENCH COUNTESS, FOSSIL FORESTS, DESERT 
VIEWS BEACH BATHERS, PIRATE SLAVE SHIP 
AND OPIUM SMUGGLER, ETC. 

Address G. L. MORRILL, Pastor Peoples Church, 
3356 10th Ave. So., Minneapolis, Minn., U. S. A. 


SOME OPINIONS ON MORRILL'S BOYCOTTED BOOK, 

“ON THE WARPATH” 

“Let me express my deepest gratitude for your favor, ‘On 
The Warpath.’ I hope I may yet meet you face to face. You are 
a militant, bold, brilliant and aggressive, and a real intellectual 
and spiritual fighter.’’—EUGENE V. DEBS, America’s greatest liv¬ 
ing Orator, Moundsville Prison, W. Va. 


“Glad to quote it in the ‘Crisis;’ ”—W. E. Burghardt Du Bois. 
Editor “THE CRISIS.” N. Y. 


“Very interesting—shall use this material from time to time.” 
—Mgr. Southern Division, NEWSPAPER SERVICE CO.. U. S. A. 


“Humor by the ton—strenuous reading. If the censorship is 
finally gotten through Congress, Morrill will probably be haled 
before the Inquisition again.”—LIGHT, Louisville, Ky. 


“One of the great books of the day—should be read by every 
loyal American.”—THE RAIL SPLITTER, Milan, Ill. 


“Morrill is a globe-trotter who sees things—and then wants 
you to see them—so he writes a book, and becomes a benefactor 
to mankind. If he gets arrested for telling the truth he doesn’t 
care a continental because he knows it advertises the book and 
makes his name immortal. Read the 'Waipaui. lou may not 
like what he tells you, or you may not like the cogent way he 
says things; but be sure of one thing—you will never forget what 
he tells you. He cannot be ignored. He is a potent product of 
invisible force—and all for Good.”—WM. SULZER, Ex-Gov. of 
N. Y. 


“The more I read your writings the more convinced I become 
that your fearless philosophy is right.”—WM. NELSON, Gov’t. 
Custodian of Petrified Forests, Adamana, Arizona. 


“Your books ‘On The Warpath,’ ‘The Devil in Mexico’ and 
‘Rotten Republics of Central America.’ are the snappiest, most 
interesting and most true to life regarding the subjects covered 
by them, that I have ever seen.”—CHAS. E. JONES. Vice-Pres.. 
PAN-AMERICAN SURGICAL and MEDICAL JOURNAL, New Or¬ 
leans, La. 


“Such unafraid books as yours ought to be in the hands of 
the people of the U. S. in order to wake them up to their peril.”— 
T. W. Hugo, Duluth, Minn. 


“Morrill describes his ‘Warpath’ book as ‘300 pages full of 
pep and Attic Salt.’ You can be sure the ‘salt’ referred to is not 
used to preserve any dead stuff, for whatever he writes is live, 
new and original.”—H. E. SOULE, Editor MASONIC OBSERVER. 
Minneapolis, Minn. 


“The world is at peace—not so Rev. Morrill who writes in a 
rapid-firing machine-gun sort of way for which he is famous. The 
last chapter of his book. ‘On the Warpath,’ is Ingersollian in its 
eloquence.”—VICTOR NILSSON. Music and Dramatic Critic. Minne¬ 
apolis, Minn. 


“lour writings are doing good missionary work all the time 
—they have a ‘mule wallop’ in them, too.”—BERT HUBBARD 
Editor Roycroft Magazine, N. Y. 


“Delightful books—may you live long to carry on your good 
work and may your books perpetuate your labors.”—W. D WEST- 
ERVELT, Noted Historian and Writer on Hawaiian Legends. 

•-pphe Rev. G. L. Morrill believes in calling a spade a spade 
His lurid, alliterative sentences pour forth from his pen like hot 
lava from a volcano. His descriptive powers and analysis of 
character are of a high order—his language picturesque arid ‘Am¬ 
erican.’ ’’—From Book Review in THE NEW AGE MAGAZINE 
Washington, D. C. 
















BEAST OF BURDEN 
GUATEMALA 




A BUZZARD’S BANQUET 



















































































The Devil in Mexico 

By Rev. “Golightly” Morrill 

Everybody from Alaska to Panama has read about it; President Wil¬ 
son’s personal envoy to Mexico, John Lind, tried to suppress it; the U. S. 
government barred it from the mails, caused the arrest and indictment of 
the author, and prohibited him from leaving the country. 

Thrilling—Timely—Truthful 

350 Unexpurgated Pages—Atrocity Photos—$1.00 Express Prepaid. 

FOREWORD 

_ Mexico is one-sixteenth of an inch nearer hell than any country I ever 
\ visited in my round-the-world travels. “M” in Mexico means murder and 
misrule. Her flag — green, white and red—stands for jealousy, cowardice 
and butchery. The national bird should be a buzzard, the coat of arms a 
skull and cross bones and her national hymn “Caramba, Damn t the Gringo.” 

Go to the Devil, gentle reader, if you want to know Mexico, for he 
has made it his favorite resort. There is sulphur and smoke in volcanoes; 
heat in climate and food; torment in cactus plant and insect life; fire in 
the eyes of the senoritas; hell-hate in the hearts of the rulers and despair 
in the souls of the peons. From the beginning the Devil has been Mexico’s 
mental, moral and military hero and today he is the real patron saint of 
the people. Viva Diablo! 

Some of the Photos 

Hanged Bandit Picked to Pieces by Vultures—Insurrectos Arrested— 
Bandit Strung to Telegraph Pole—A Yucatan Execution—Dynamited Pas¬ 
senger Train — Bullfight — Beggars — Mexican Carnival — Bandit-Burned 
Town—Aztec Gods—Soldier-Guarded Train—Ruins of Uxmal—Suspects 
Shot by Firing Squad. 

A Few of the Chapters 

Palm Beach Nuts, Havana’s Satanic Sabbath, Whiskey in Church, 
“Feast of Blisters,” Wild Women. Died Game, Attacked by Ticks, Fire¬ 
cracker Fiends, Native Dances, Carnival Curse, Throwing the Bull, A 
“Peon” of Joy, Night Life, In a “Norther” Hurricane, Disease and Deprav¬ 
ity, Tampico Tramps, “Plaza de Prostitution,” Kaiseristas in Mexico, Hats, 
Hanged, “Mucho Disgusto,” A Farcical Election, Carranza the Criminal, 
Pickpockets and Thieves’ Market. Serenading a Poet, Fly and Dirt Eaters. 
Hermits and Harlots, Sun and Moon Pyramids, A Subterranean Town, 
Hotel Hells, Choked to Death. Beggars. Cortez—the Devil Crusader, A 
Brush with Bandits. The Revolution Habit, Mexican Beatitudes, Mani¬ 
cures, Hellish Atrocities. 

Address G. L. Morrill, Pastor People’s Church, 

3356 10th Ave. So., Minneapolis, Minn., U. S. A. 




PRESS COMMENTS ON “THE DEVIL IN MEXICO” 

CHICAGO SATURDAY BLADE—A thrilling and timely volume. The 
Blade having published several articles contributed by the author, readers 
will no doubt recall the wretched and forbidding state of affairs he found 
there. The book is well illustrated with half-tone pictures. 

NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY, E. H. Anderson, Director—A work 
of this character will be of much interest and value in our collection. It. 
will be used not only for current reference, but will be permanently pre¬ 
served in our collection for the use of future readers. 

LIGHT, LOUISVILLE, KY.—“The Devil in Mexico” is worse, if any¬ 
thing, than Morrill’s lively trip among Central America’s “rotten repub¬ 
lics,” but interesting and full of wit, humor, pathos—oh, my yes. Best 
reading ever for a railroad journey, for five or ten minutes, or for a day 
on this live topic. There is lots of research, statistics, information and 
speculation. Morrill saw harsh things through dark glasses polished up 
with a sense of humor. 

STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF WISCONSIN, Chief, Order 
Division—On behalf of the Society I wish to thank you for “The Devil in 
Mexico,” which you recently sent our Library in response to our request, 
and which we are glad to have to add to our Mexico descriptive material. 

Dr. H. A. MONDAY, MEXICO CITY, MEXICO—You have depicted 
conditions at first hand in a manner that is going to cause a lot of com¬ 
ment, and I don’t mind telling you that you are hated as but few men are 
here today because you have told the truth. 

WM. SULZER, EX-GOV. OF N. Y.—I have spent a good deal of time 
in Mexico. Next to seeing a country yourself, the best thing is to see it 
through the eyes of some celebrated globe-trotter like Rev. G. L. Morrill. 
Brother Morrill has the rare ability to describe what he sees in a fascinat¬ 
ing way; in splendid terse language; so that the book is as instructive as 
it is interesting and entertaining. 

M. J. CLANCY, BLUEFIELDS, NICARAGUA—Your Mexico book 
is certainly hot stuff, but not overdone. It will take many years of educa¬ 
tion to impress on the average American this fact—“There is not a Latin- 
American south of the Rio Grande to Tierra del Fuego who does not 
inwardly hate the gringo.” 

BERT HUBBARD, EDITOR ROYCROFT MAGAZINE, N. Y.—Like 
your other books of travel this is intensely interesting. You rap things 
right and left for their own good. Everybody who has any interest at all 
in Mexican affairs ought to have a copy of this book. 

C. M. REMINGTON, OMAHA, NEB.—I was a resident of Mexico 
from September, 1910. to the summer of 1916. My first eight months were 
spent as a soldier in the army of Madero. Later. I worked in different 
places from Tampico to the isthmus of Tehauntepec. I was among the 
refugees during the fiasco of 1914. I have been intimately acquainted with 
several of the leading Maderistas, Huertistas, Villistas, Felixistas, Carran- 
zistas, Palaezistas and Zapatistas. I have traveled on all the different 
movable things they have down there, from a burro to a “tren de tercera 
clase.” I have been robbed of clothes and every movable, and stood all the 
humiliations Americans are subjected to in Mexico. I have spent several 
dollars for books which were supposed to give a person the inside history 
of Mexico, but not till I saw your book was there one that came within 
gunshot of the situation. It is the real and actual thing. 


“ROTTEN REPUBLICS” 

A TROPICAL TRAMP IN 

CENTRAL AMERICA 

By Rev. “Golightly” Morrill 

LITERARY LAVA 

A Witty, Racy, Epigrammatic Book, Right Up-to-Date, 
On British Honduras, Guatemala, Salvador, 
Spanish Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa 
Rica, Panama, Colombia, Cuba, 

Jamaica and Nassau. 

FOREWORD 

H AMLET found something “rotten 
in the state of Denmark,” but it 
was sweet compared with what I 
discovered in Central America— 
the land of dirt, disease, destitution, 
darkness, dilapidation, despots, delay, 
debt, deviltry and degeneracy, where a 
conservative estimate makes 90 per 
cent of the women immoral, 95 per 
cent of the men thieves and 100 per 
cent of the population liars. 

A FEW OF THE CHAPTERS 

Naughty New Orleans, Hell in Mexico, Hookworms and Cock¬ 
roaches, Gum-Chewers, A Carib Village, Petrified People, At¬ 
lantis In the Jungle, Hotel Dives, Gambling and Girls, Coffee 
Plantation Sundav Cockfights. Skulls and Cross-Bones, Movies 
and Marimba, A Pig-Driver President, Pillory and Peon, Alli¬ 
gator Hunt, Loose Morals, Bombast and Bombs, Custom House 
Grafters, Our New Naval Base, A Crew of Crooks, Liars, Steal¬ 
ing _a Fine Art, Patriotic Piffle, Manana, Hammocks, Vol¬ 

canoes Few Clothes, Filibusters, Intervention, Profanity, An 
Arch Fiend Our Flag and Baseball. Nicaragua Canal Route, 
Quarantined, Prostitution in Panama, In an Earthquake, Down 
in a Submarine, An Incestuous Union, Bananas, A Night in 
Cartagena, Poor Schools, A Saintly Stiff, Where Bolivar Died, 
Bastards A Garbage Market, A ‘‘Colombia” Record, A Tropical 
Court Passion and Fashion, Fan Flirts, Santiago Memories, The 
Lottery Game, Our Lady Nicotine, “Pan” America, Diplomuts, 
Spanish Devils, Sodom Surpassed. 

$1.00 POSTPAID 

Address G. L. Morrill, Pastor People's Church 

3356 10th Ave., So., Minneapolis, Minn., U. S. A. 




53 

Uncen¬ 

sored 

PHOTOS 



















PRESS COMMENTS ON G. L. MORRILL’S BOOK— 
“ROTTEN REPUBLICS—A TROPICAL TRAMP 
IN CENTRAL AMERICA” 


“Twenty years of my life were spent in Latin America, where I 
went as a physician. I know the people and speak their language. I 
hold the chair of Foreign Trade at the New York University, where 
we have a very large student body, and have recommended your work 
to my pupils in order to give them a true view of the Latin repub¬ 
lics.”—W. E. AUGHINBAUGH, Foreign and Export Editor of Leslie’s 
Weekly and Author of “Selling Latin America.” 

"The next best thing to traveling around the world is to hear 
G. L. Morrill tell about it in his pithy, punchy, rapid-fire way.”—E. M. 
NEWMAN, noted globe-trotter and lecturer. 

“A man like Golightly Morrill can not possibly keep out of trouble. 
He just feeds on it. He snoops around and pokes his nose in where 
angels and folk like you and me fear to tread. Someone hits him on 
his inquisitive nose. Then he sits himself down and writes an inter¬ 
esting account of it all, flavors it with a lot of sporty illustrations of 
ladies with and without kimonos, rag rugs, screens, barrels, etc. You 
and I buy it and chuckle over it. There’s a dozen photographs in 
‘Rotten Republics’ that would compromise Golightly in any state in 
the Union, including Utah.”—FELIX SHAY, Editor of the Roycroft 
Magazine, N. Y. 

“You have a wonderfully interesting way of telling things. How¬ 
ever, after having written this book, I just wonder if you will feel 
safe in making another trip through Central America. I notice you 
sort of talk in mighty plain English.”—BERT HUBBARD, son of El¬ 
bert Hubbard. 

“Knowing, as I do, the countries which you describe, your original, 
terse style is doubly interesting.”—CHARLES E. EBERHARDT, U. S. 
Consul General to Latin America. 

"I have lived in Nicaragua for twenty years. It would be a for¬ 
tunate thing if the gullible investors in the tropics were able to get 
and read your book on Central America before investing.”—M. J. 
CLANCY, Bluefields, Nicaragua. 

“ ‘Rotten Republics’ is one of the best books I ever read. It is 
interesting, instructive and entertaining. If you have ever taken a 
trip through Central America, you should read this book. If you have 
not, you should read it. It is epigrammatic and right up to date, and 
by a Globe-Trotter who sees things and has the rare faculty of telling 
you about them so that you can see them for yourself.”—WILLIAM 
SULZER, ex-Governor of New York. 

“Golightly, your books are great. They’ve got a sure enough 
‘punch’ in them.”—BOB FITZSIMMONS, World-Famous Pugilist. 

“ ‘Rotten Republics’ is a book that pleases and startles, but all the 
while teaches the great moral lessons intended. Doctor Morrill’s vivid 
pictures are given in crisp chapters that entertain and bring us to 
the conclusion that spiritual regeneration is the immediate need of 
Latin America.”—CLIFTON D. GRAY, in the Chicago Standard. 

“G. L. Morrill is a sort, of ministerial Irvin Cobb. His book is real 
life shown up on the printed page as clearly as though Jack London 
himself were behind the pen. Good and bad are impartially shown. 
To the student of social conditions it is a valuable modern reference 
book. To the casual reader it is the best and wittiest thing he can 
take on a vacation or a railroad journey. He tells the truth without 
fear or favor. Some of the stories will never appear in the newspapers. 
United States ought to be pretty well posted by a Morrill before it ties 
up with Pan-American Congresses,”—LIGHT. Louisville, Ky, 


“South Sea 
Silhouettes” 


60 

BY 

256 1 

RARE 

PHOTOS 

REV.“GOLIGHTLY” MORRILL 

PAGES 1 


A SKY-PILOT’S TRAVEL “LOG” 


ON 

HAWAII, SAMOA, FIJI, TONGA, TAHITI, 
RAROTONGA, NEW ZEALAND, AUSTRALIA 
AND TASMANIA 


Golightly was introduced to a hurricane in the Tongan Islands 
and saw a whole town demolished before his eyes; traveled in Ger¬ 
man Samoa at the time of the English occupation by New Zealand 
troops; went through waterspouts, tidal wave and drought un¬ 
touched; interviewed Fijian ex-cannibals and an Australian abo¬ 
riginal princess; photographed volcanoes and geysers, South Sea 
island dances and carnivals, and the war ruins of Papeete, Tahiti, 
made by the “Emden.” His descriptions of the native life, manners 
and morals, and the effect of our so-called civilization on them, 
are racy and original. - 

SOME OF THE 60 UNUSUAL PHOTOS 

Ivilauea Volcano, Hula-hula Dancers, Fijian Black Beauties, 
Ex-cannibal Chief, Meke-meke Dance, A Kava Party, Pounding 
Tapa, Tongan Belles, In the Hurricane, The Tin Can Mail, R. L. 
Stevenson’s Grave, Samoan Siva Dancers, Lime-haired Native, Rub¬ 
bing Noses, Haka Dancers, N. Z. Geyser, Women Voting, Blue 
Mountains, Aborigine with Boomerang, Native Wedding, Shelled 
by Warships, Maid in Tahiti. 


PARTIAL CONTENTS 


Cannibals 
A Dead-Beat King 
Mid-Pacific Carnival 
Women’s Morals 
Wrecked 

Swimming Ashore 
Horrible Deaths 
R. L. Stevenson’s Grave 
Loving Hands 
Tattooing 
Easter Gambling- 
Prizefights 

Heavy Gold Paper—$1.00 Postpaid. 
Address G. L. Morrill, Pastor People’s Church, 335 
Minneapolis, Minn., U. S. A. 


Sydney After Dark 
A Black Angel 
Tasmaniacs 
A Deck-A-Log 
A Pajama Party 
Pearl Divers 
Strange Marriages 
Lepers 
Dope 

Smugglers 
Civilized Savages 
Hell’s Masterpiece 


356 10th Ave. So., 















SOME PRESS COMMENT ON “SOUTH SEA SILHOUETTES” 

IIIIIII1IIIIIIIII1IIIIII1IIIII1I1IIII1I1I 

“The healthy man does not live who will fail to open it to 
read. Because—sh-sh!—the front cover is a cut-out and peering 
through the aperture is a winsome maiden of Tahiti, clad in two 
yards of Sears-Roebuck muslin and a string of beads. Inside you 
find the swellest lot of hula-hula models that ever put Lucille, 
Hortense or Marie to shame. Of course they all “point a moral and 
adorn a tale.” But such outlines! The wonder to me is Golightly 
ever came back. His book reads like the letters your traveled 
friends should send you—but forget. He danced native dances, he 
drank native drinks, he rubbed noses, called “Aloha,” and he met 
a black girl three times at midnight on a dark island road. Three 
times! Though the girl never moved from the spot at all, and 
he came back to us unscathed, God bless him! Too. he attended 
prizefights, the races, called on Governors-general, participated in 
a wedding, and visited Stevenson’s tomb and Samoa home.”— 
FELIX SHAY in the FRA MAGAZINE. 

“South Sea Silhouettes tells the story in a classic and graphic 
way of Rev. “Golightly” Morrill’s trip to the South Sea islands, and 
tells it in such a way that you see the scenery, and talk to the 
people, and you become, as it were, unconsciously the traveler. 
The book is certain to have a large circulation. Everyone should 
read it. It is history, geography and literature combined. It is 
one of the most unique, one of the most interesting, and one of 
the most instructive books I have ever read—a masterpiece in its 
way.”—WILLIAM SULZER, EX-GOVERNOR of N. Y. 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllllll 

“Your descriptions of the various places you went to, the 
people you met, their customs, etc., are truly wonderful. So often 
subjects of this nature are made so trite that one cannot actually 
wade through them. Your book is positively the one exception 
I have found on the subject of travel.”—BERT HUBBARD, SON of 
ELBERT HUBBARD. 

Illlllllllillllllillllllllllllllllllll 

“I want to tell you how much I have enjoyed your two books, 
“To Hell and Back,” and the one on the South Seas. They are so 
full of life and written so entertainingly that one feels he is go¬ 
ing along with you.”—REV. WALTER E. BENTLEY, National Sec¬ 
retary of Actors’ Church Alliance. 

IlllllllilPJIIIIlIillllilllllill 

“Your books should be suppressed by the Federation of La¬ 
bor. As an antidote for work they are unequalled. My wife and 
daughters have let me eat cold lunches ever since your books fell 
into their hands—another count against you.”—J. C. STIERS, 
County Supt. of Schools, Harrison County, Cadiz, Ohio. 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII 

“Your books are like some of the styles one sees on Michigan 
Avenue. They certainly are not troubled with Tow visibility.’ ”— 
CLIFTON D. GRAY, Editor of CHICAGO STANDARD. 

lillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll 

“South Sea Silhouettes was so interesting that I sat up all 
night to read it.”—DWIGHT ELMENDORF, World-traveler and 
Lecturer. 

“Your books should be on every train and news-stand. They 
are ‘punchy,’ full of keen wit and make mighty fine and easy 
reading.”—BERT LEVY, Artist and Writer. 



“To Hell and Back” 

My Trip to South America 

By REV. GOLIGHTLY MORRILL 

One of the Funniest and Most Fearless Books of 
Travel Ever Written 

A PANORAMA OF PERDITION from 
PANAMA TO PATAGONIA 

Unusual Photos—Drawings—200 Pages 

QUOTED BY PRESS AND MAGAZINES 

SOME OF THE THINGS DESCRIBED: 

The desert cities, high railways and Inca ruins of PERU; the devil dances, 
degradation of Andean Indians and ruins of world’s oldest city of BOLIVIA; 
CHILE’S volcanoes, borax lakes, carnage and cruelty; the Straits of Magellan and 
Falkland Islands; the races, gambling and profligacy of Buenos Aires and Monte- 
vidio, the Sodom and Gomorrah of South America; the rubber atrocities and white 
slave markets of BRAZIL; VENEZUELA’S bull fights, revolutions and Pitch Lake; 
the head-hunters, bigotry and backwardness of ECUADOR and COLOMBIA. 

THE FOREWORD 

“Truth wears no fig-leaf. I intend to tell the naked truth about South Amer¬ 
ica. The diplomat dare not, the guest cannot, the business boomer will not, the 
subsidized press and steamship companies do not, but the preacher who pays his 
own bills can afford to tell nothing else.” 

A FEW OF THE CHAPTERS: 

An English Eden, Pizarro's Town, A Real Devil, Lima Beans, Bully Sport, 
Curious Cuzco, Religious Rackets, on Lake Titicaca, Pious Orgies, a Door of Hell, A 
Prehistoric Man, A Live Martyr, Flirting in Santiago, Chile Con Carnage, The End 
of the World, Wrecks and Whales, Kissers, Buenos Aires Betting, Scene and Obscene, 
Tango Times, Hell's Queen, On the Amazon, Ballet Beauties, Art Nude and Lewd 
Church Advertising, Dives, White Slaves, Egret Fiends, “Caramba," The Lady and 
the Bull, Hell Colombia! Smugglers, Ship on Fire, Held Up. 

COVER WITH DESIGN IN RED AND BLACK 

A Bargain — $1.00 Postpaid 

Address G. L. MORRILL 

3356 Tenth Avenue South, Minneapolis, Minnesota 







THE NEW YORK WORLD, one of the 

world’s greatest newspapers, devoted a whole 
page to a review and write-up of G. L. 
Morrill’s book, “TO HELL AND BACK — 
MY TRIP TO SOUTH AMERICA.” It 
said in part: 


“Rev. Golightly Morrill is an author of repute, whose 
previous works include “Golightly 'Round the Globe” and 
“Upper Cuts.” His latest volume , “To Hell and Back>’ 
bound appropriately in black and flaming red\ is a VIVA¬ 
CIOUS disapproval of South America. It is dedicated point- 
blank to the Devil. There is nothing cut and dried, and nothing 
mealy-mouthed about it. Theodore Roosevelt and Elihu Root 
are among the notables who have recently looked over and 
variously reported upon our sister continent, South America. 
But evidently these distinguished tourists missed their opportunities. 
The Rev. Golightly Morrill has now been over the ground. 
Like another Dante he returns to tell the tale — etc., etc.” 


This article was illustrated with colored cartoons by 
Gordon Ross, picturing Mr. Morrill’s adventures and 
experiences in Peru, Chile, Falkland Islands, etc. The 
review ended by quoting one hundred lines from differ¬ 
ent chapters of the book to show their spice, wit and 
wisdom. 







Golightly ’Round the Globe 

By REV. GOLIGHTLY MORRILL 

SPICY BREEZES 


Prom 

Hawaii, Japan, China, Philippines, Java, Burma, 
India, Ceylon, Egypt, Italy, Switzerland, Germany 


200 Pages—Photos—Cartoons 


A Good Book for Bad People 


PRESS COMMENT 

“Easy and Good-Humored.”— American Review of Reviews . 
“A Kind of Uncensored Movie.” —Chicago Standard. 

“I Am Reading It With Chuckles of Delight.”— Elbert Hubbard. 
“A Compound of Snuff and Cayenne Pepper.” 

—Benjamin Fay Mills. 


SOME OF THE CHAPTERS: 

A Prize Fight, Noah's Ark, Rag Dances, Ship-Bored, Sleepy 
Religion, Geisha Girls, The Yoshiwara, Altogether Baths, 
Making Opium, In Jail, Beastly Benares, My Native Bath, 
Carnal Caves, Captain Cupid, Naughty Naples, Camera Curse , 
Noisome Cologne, The Tipping Habit. 

CLOTH-BOUND, BLUE AND GOLD, $1.00 POSTPAID. 

G. L. Morrill, 3356 10th Ave. S., Minneapolis, Minn. 







—ffl 0 R R IL L— 

TRAVELOGUES and LECTURES 

WITH OR WITHOUT SLIDES AND MOVING PICTURES 

“ The next best thing to traveling around the world is to hear G. L. Morrill tell 
about it in his pithy, punchy, rapid-fire way. ” 

—E. M. NEWMAN, Noted Globe-Trotter and Lecturer 


—Some Subjects 

Abraham Lincoln 

America’s Uncrowned Queen 

Art and Christianity 

Alaska 

Argentina 

Australia 

Alhambra and Spanish Bull Fight 

Along the Mediterranean 

Banff— Laggan—Field—Glacier 

Brother Jonathan 

Belgium and Waterloo 

British Honduras 

Brazil 

Burma 

Bolivia 

Battle of the Books 
Buried Cities 
Churches of Asia Minor 
Constantinople 
Cranks 

Colorado, Pike’s Peak or Bust 

Camping in the Yellowstone 

Cuba and Her Future 

China 

Costa Rica 

Colombia 

Chile 

Ceylon 

Cruising with Columbus 
Dances Far and Near 
Does Death End All ? 


to Choose From— 

Diplomuts 
Decoration Day 
Down the Rhine 
Egypt 

Elbert Hubbard and the Roycroft 

Flying Dutchman 

Fakes and Fakirs 

Ferrer, the Masonic Martyr 

Fiji and Cannibalism 

Falkland Islands 

Florida 

George Washington 
Greece 

Girl Graduates 
Golden Fleece 
Germany, Her Music 
Guatemala 
Hamlet’s Home 
Hobbies 

Holy Land on Horseback 
Holland 

Hungary and Her Heroes 
Hawaii 

Hotels Around the World 
Italy and Her Art 
India 

Immigration 

Jerusalem 

Japan 

Java 


CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE 














—M 0 R RI L L— 

TRAVELOGUES and LECTURES 


WITH OR WITHOUT SLIDES AND MOVING PICTURES 

( CONTINUED) 


Land of the Midnight Sun 

Staging Thru England 

Life Among the Russians 

Scottish Scenery 

Life’s Music Lesson 

Slum Society 

Life’s School 

Sweden the Beautiful 

Lisbon, Old and New 

Spanish Honduras 

Murderous Mexico 

Samoa and Stevenson’s Home 

Masonic Shrines 

Salvador 

Morrill in the Alps 

School and Church Bells 

Musical Minister 

Tracks of a Tenderfoot 

My Old Kentucky Home 

Temperance 

Marriage 

The Theatre and Her Critics 

New Woman 

The Rockies 

New Zealand 

The Bug Family 

Nicaragua 

Thanksgiving and Living 

Nassau and the Bahamas 

The Lady Nicotine 

Notes of a Pianist—L. M. Gott- 

Tasm nia 

schalk (illustrated) 

Tahiti and Tongan Islands 

On the Mississippi 

The God of Books 

Ould Ireland 

The Ten Commandments 

Old World Castles and Cathedrals 

Up-To-Date 

Our Canadian Cousin 

The Melting Pot 

Peru 

The Grand Canyon of Arizona 

Philippines 

Trip to Chinatown 

Paris and La Belle France 

The Scotland of Scott and Burns 

Panama Canal 

Vienna and the Blue Danube 

Porto Rico and the West Indies 

V enezuela 

Pig-Headed People 

War 

Patriotism 

Wales 

Quacks 

What They Did to Mary 

Yellow Journalism Yosemite 

Yucatan and Her Ruins 


For Dates and Terms, Address 

G. L. MORRILL 

PASTOR PEOPLE’S CHURCH 

3356 lOth Awe. South, Minneapolis, Minn. U.S.A. 














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Jas. V. Bryson, Manager, Minneapolis 




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"We Kjiotv Hobv” 

822-24 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis 









































Bank With a Growing Bank 

Ample capital and surplus, together with efficient 
officers and directors, place this institution in a 
position to handle accounts of individuals, firms 
and corporations on a most satisfactory basis. 

You are cordially invited to take up your business 
affairs with the officers of this bank and join the 
constantly increasing number of depositors who 
are sharing in its personal and efficient service. 

Officers 

W. B. TSCHARNER, President 
L. S. SWENSON, Vice-President 
M. C. TIFFT, Vice-President 

WILLIAM F. OLSEN, Cashier 

THE BANK OF PERSONAL SERVICE 

Located in the traffic center 
HENNEPIN AVENUE AT SIXTH STREET 

MERCANTILE STATE BANK 


MASONIC TEMPLE PHARMACY 

JACOB JACOBSON, Proprietor 


PRESCRIPTIONS PROMPTLY FILLED 

A full line of Druggist’s Sundries, Candies, etc., 
always on hand 

526 Hennepin Avenue (§) Minneapolis, Minnesota 







CHICAGO AVENUE 

GEORGE B. ESTERMAN. PROPR. 

llllllllUHlHtllllHllMlIIMlIIIHttHHlIlltSIHIHHlHffltlHffllllHUIIHIIHmitliilHIHUHHillimtlllHIIlllIHliimiHHUIIH 

2901-2903 Chicago Ave. 

Minneapolis UJ Minnesota 




St. James Hotel 

F/'REP'ROOF 

Minneapolis, Minnesota 

Offers Rooms with Hot and Cold 
Water, Telephone & Shower Baths 
for 50c., 75c. and $1.00 per Day. 

Absolutely Fireproof—Nothing to burn but 
the Doors. Strictly a temperance Hotel. 

E. J. COLLICK, Mgr. 














MULTI- TYPED LETTERS 



Ad. Writing---Addressing and Mailing — 

Siationery Printed — Lithographed — En- 
graved. Neatly — - Quickly ---Reasonably 

116 - SO. 4TH ST. - MINNEAPOLIS 


F. BUCHSTE1N 6- CO. 

TRUSSES AND BRACES 

□ □ □ 

113 SOUTH SIXTH STREET 


MINNEAPOLIS, 


MINNESOTA 





























Everett Pianos 

—are to be found in hundreds of our 
Best Minneapolis Homes. 

WHEN WANTING A PIANO—SEE 



ELMER BROOKS 

OF THE 

THE BROOKS PIANO CO. 

Ill So. 11th St, 

Minneapolis Minnesota 










Did The 
Kaiser 
Kill 
Elbert 
Hubbard 

Because He Wrote 

“Who Lifted The 
Lid Off Hell”? 


Elbert Hubbard, Founder of the Roycroft Shops, Lost on tn; LUSITANIA, May 7, 1915 


S OME say that the Kaiser in his blind wrath sent the 
U-Boat to sink the Lusitania because Elbert Hubbard 
was aboard. Elbert Hubbard named the Kaiser a 
‘ Mastoid Degenerate” and told about his withered 
arm and leaky ear. When Hubbard was called to Europe to 
write from first-hand information for the American people 
the Kaiser knew what to expect. Then the Sayville Wireless 
sputtered spitefully—a Sub slipped out from Kiel and the 
Lusitania never reached port! Elbert Hubbard died, but 
his indictment of the German 
tyrant lives! 

Order the book, Who Lifted the 
Lid and learn why The Hollenzol- 
lern was afraid to let the man who 
wrote it write any more ! 


THE ROYCROFTERS 

East Aurora, New York. 

€| Send me a copy of Who Lifted the Lid, 
for which I enclose 25 cents (Forward 
Postage Stamps, Thrift Stamps or Coin— 
Use this Coupon. Write your name and 
address on margin of this page.) 








L. M. DAVIS 

IMPORTER OF 

WHITE CHINA, STUDIES and MATERIALS 

FIRING LESSONS MENDING BANDING 

DECORATING GLASS RIVETING REVELATION KILNS 
N. W. Phone Nicollet 5978 


114 South Eighth Street 

Garden Theatre Terrace 


MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 


Tropical Fruit Nectar 

No Competition, stands alone. 

Passed by U. S. Government and all Pure Food 
Commissioners. 

Highly Endorsed. 


TROPICAL FRUIT NECTAR COMPANY 

I. C. TAYLOR, Manager 

42 East Hennepin Ave. MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 


W. F. KURTZ & CO. 

— WHOLESALE - 

Vegetables and Produce 

Nicollet 1396 — PHONES — Dial 37018 

621 2nd Ave. N. Minneapolis, Minn. 










FOX (SL LONG 



Undertakers 

and 

Funeral Directors 

OFFICE PHONES {xi 073 16 ° 

13 Fifth Street N. E. 



Minneapolis, 


Minnesota. 


A. W. SCOTT CO. 


Established. 1867 


Plumbing, Heating and Gas Fitting 

Setter and Water Connections 


JN. W. Main 661 

Phones , Automatic 37187 


212 South Sixth Street 

Minneapolis , Minnesota 


IMPERIAL CANDY STORE 

GEANAKOPLOS BROS., Props. 

Candies, Cut Flowers, Cigars and_ Fruits 


A . J 31797 

Automatic | 38582 


. f 2884 
N. W. Main | 5^75 


Cor. 5th Street and Hennepin Ave. 


MINNEAPOLIS 


MINNESOTA 

















T5he BIJOU 

Minneapolis’ Largest Movie Theatre 
'Producing all the best features 
Special Music Program for Each 
Production 

Admission 5 and lO Cents 


FUNERAL PARLORS 


THE EARL UNDERTAKING CO. 


Minneapolis, Minnesota 

















■She PALMER 

School of Chiropractic 

“ Chiropractic fountain head ” DR. B. J. PALMER 

DAVENPORT, IOWA, U. S. A. 

I N ORDER to get an understanding of the very 
remarkable cures he saw effected through 
CHIROPRACTIC, the new science of health, 
Elbert Hubbard investigated the science and took the 
adjustments personally. As a result of his investigation 
he said : “ Chiropractic never brings an adverse result* 
Its tendency is to make a sick man well, and a well 
man better.” 

Mr. Hubbard’s opinions are very valuable, inas¬ 
much as he was the son of a physician and had 
studied seven years with the expectation of following 
in his father’s footsteps as an honored, capable 
practitioner of medicine. In a recent book entitled, 
“ The New Science,” Mr. Hubbard made these in¬ 
teresting comments about CHIROPRACTIC : 

“ The Chiropractor does not pin his faith to any 
single panacea. He simply knows the physical fact that a pressure of bone on nerve brings 
about a condition where the telegraph system fails to act properly. He sees the result, 
and his business is to go after the cause. With skillful manipulation of the hand, he 
brings about a right relationship and proper adjustment. He finds the cause and fixes it. 

The “Chiropractors are not DOCTORS OF MEDICINE, but DOCTORS 
OF HEALTH, and master mechanics of the Central Nervous System of the human 
body; from them we get a science of healing which is adding greatly to the welfare, 
the happiness and the well-being of the world. 

If You are Sick—If You are Worn 
Out or Racked With Disease 
Try CHIROPRACTIC 











Biatfyam Jfflnrom 

83 SOUTH TENTH ST 
The Best of Everything in Flowers and Plants 
Prompt attention to phone orders 
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 


“A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOREVER” 

JOHN S. BRADSTREET 
=& CO. = 

INTERIOR FURNISHINGS 
AND DECORATIONS 

ESTABLISHED 1876 

327 SOUTH SEVENTH STREET 
Minneapolis, Minnesota : U. S. A. 














FROM STAR 
TO STAR 

Come we from some other Star? 

Who knows? 

Who can tell of life afar? 

Earth—the Now—Our labors are -— 

Each one shapes his Avatar 
And goes — 

To some other distant star? 

Who ^nou;sP 

A new volume of verse, some light, some a glint of the 
stars, all full of the human touch. 

Writ from the heart by “The Mother of a Soldier,” and 
“Sergeant Nat” smiles at you as you open the book. 

Cloth Bound $1.25 

Order direct of the Author, EDITH GRENSTEDT ROCHESTER, 
427 South Olive St., Los Angeles, Calif., or of the Grafton Publishing 
Corporation, 828 S. Los Angeles St., Los Angeles, Calif. 




RESIDENCE 
3636 Minnehaha Avenue 


Res. Phones 


f N. W. Drexel 4408 
IT. S. Auto 61 869 


McDIVITT & COMPANY 


Funeral Directors & Embalmers 


LADY ASSISTANT 

Odd Fellows Temple Bldg. 2707 E. Lake Street 

^^T^OUR MOTTOr^^J) 

“The Best Service for the Least Money” 


N. W. DREXEL 2843 
T. S. AUTO 62 102 


Minneapolis, Minn. 









BOOK SECTION ! 

L. H. WELLS. Manager ] 

POWERSj 

Booksellers 
j Bookhunters 

BOOK IMPORTERS 

Bookbinders 

Minneapolis, Minnesota < 

Bookfinders 

COMPLIMENTS 

BROWNING, KING & CO. 

APPAREL FOR MEN AND BOYS 

NICOLLET AT FIFTH 

MINNEAPOLIS 


Arcadia Candy Store 

NICK GEANAKOPLOS, Prop. 


CANDY, FRUITS and CIGARS 


Tri-State Phone 2395 N. W. Phone 2977 Main 

Cor. Third St. and First Ave., So. MINNEAPOLIS 

















E. M. Dauphine Company 

FUNERAL DIRECTORS 
+* and EMBALMERS 

MRS. E. M. DAUPHINE, Mgr. 

fN. W. Nic. 1440 
Telephones: Tri -S»S? .Sjg™ 

I r -!k^. 5 5 4 oT 

613 Eighth Avenue South 

Minneapolis, Minnesota 

GERDE AUTO CO. 


“STUDEBAKER” 

AGENCY 

NEW GARAGE 
SHOP AND STORAGE 

Satisfactory Service Given all Customers at all Times 


f South 7257 

Phones j Automatic 52 676 
912-914 East Lake 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 

















FRANK W. PETERSON 

DRUGGIST 

MANUFACTURING PHARMACIST 

Wholesale and Retail 

Locodyne, Citrosal, Glycodyne, Digestonique 

PHONES: T. S. 51240. N. W. SO. 5270 

Cor. Lake St. and Chicago Ave. 
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 


Mooke, Tekwilligek, Inc. 

alu> Jlmmu* 

FLORAL DESIGNS FOR ALL 
OCCASIONS 

5 SOUTH SEVENTH STREET, MINNEAPOLIS 


HENNEPIN COUNTY SAVINGS BANK 

Marquette Ave. and Fourth St. 

Resources Over $7,000,000.00 

INVITES BUSINESS AND PERSONAL CHECKING ACCOUNTS 

4% Interest Paid on Savings, Compounded Quarterly 

OFFICERS 

W. H. LEE, President W. F. McLANE, Cashier 

DAVID P. JONES, Vice-President H. H. BARBER, Assistant Cashier 

ROGER 1. LEE, Assistant Cashier 

OLDEST SAVINGS BANK IN MINNESOTA 






















American Teni and Awning Company 

C. M. RAWITZER, Prop. 


Tents and Awnings, 
Paulins, Wagon Covers, 
Horse Covers and Blankets, 
Auto Covers, Water Bags, 
Canvas Aprons, and Bags, 
Sleeping Porch Curtains, 
Canoe and Auto Tents. 


Cotton and Roll Duck, 
Lawn Folding Furniture, 
Cow Covers and Blankets, 
Feed Bags, Oiled Clothing, 
Sails, Flags, Umbrellas, 
Waterproof Covers, 
Lambing Tents. 


TENTS FOR RENT 


18-20 W. 3rd St. 
St. Paul, Minn. 

307-309-311 Wash. 
Ave. N. 

Minneapolis, Minn. 


A. E. PAEGEL 

llllilllllllllllllllllli 

Jeweler and Optician 

1II1IIIIIIIIIIIH lilllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllliu 

Jl* Pearl Buyers -. 9 . 



Minneapolis, Minnesota 

























William Weisman Company 

Manufacturing Furriers 

F ine 

ASHIONABLE 

URS 


CJ There is an air of refinement and luxury about our Furs, 
which instantly attracts the admiration of those who know 
Quality. 



“He’s a wise man who buys his Furs from Weisman” 

508 NICOLLET AVENUE 
Minneapolis, Minnesota 


-lElgin-”—— 

The Home of 

THE THESPIAN 

EIGHTH STREET AND HENNEPIN AVENUE 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 


J 
















HOBART, TASMANIA 







Earn $35, $50, $75 a Week and More 


Well trained commercial artists are paid big prices for 
good designs and illustrations. Learn to draw in spare time 
by Federal home-study method. Send to-day for 56-page 
free book, “Your Future.” 


FEDERAL SCHOOL OF COMMERCIAL DESIGNING 

352 Warner Bnilding MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 


JOHN LANKIS & CO. 

Pine J'miis and Confectionaries 


_ , . I Dial 32045 
Telephones , N . w . Main 2047 


Hennepin Ave. and Third St. MINNEAPOLIS 




















A. M. SMITH 

Universal Car Agency 

All Makes of Radiators Repaired 
Also New and Second-hand FORDS 

T. S. Auto 33 475 N. W. Nicollet 6134 
AUTHOR M. SMITH, Proprietor 

806-814 Fourth Street South MINNEAPOLIS 

“FORD” Authorized Dealer 


HUSSEY ™>e HATTER 

Makes Old Hats Look New 

16J4 North 7th Street 
Minneapolis, Minnesota 










The Curtis Hotel 

[Formerly Curtis Court] 


Minneapolis’ Newest 

12 STORIES, FIREPROOF, 1000 ROOMS 
Private Baths Throughout 

Beautiful Lobby, Ballroom, Cafe, Shops 

n J Single , $1.50 to $2.50) n ^ 
Rooms * Double, 2.50 to 5.00 \ Per Da y 


i N - W - East 6 7 M* ur n / T - S. 41442 or 41703 

T e,e P hones } T. S. 41112 N,ght Calls { N. W. East 797 

Washburn Undertaking Co. 

LADY ASSISTANT 

W. P. WASHBURN J. A. DONALDSON 

P. THORHAUG 



19 Fifth St. N. E., Minneapolis, Minn. 









STREET SCENE IN ALGIERS 









tfftNWW CAFE' 


o-M- 


24-26 South Sixth Street 

Opposite Dyrkman Hotel TOM LEE, PrOD. 

. . MINNEAPOLIS... ’ F 


'punwpc J Nic. 2417 
PHONES: , Dia i 32544 


Is the largest , most attractive and homelike* reasonably priced 
Chinese American Restaurant in the Northwest 


NOONDAY LUNCHEON 

11:30 to 2 35c 


TABLE D’HOTE DINNER 

5 ^3° to 8 75 c 


Dancing, Music and Entertainment 

Our Chow Mein has a wide reputation and the quality of our dishes is 
Beyond Comparison 

SPECIAL DINNERS AND BANQUETS CATERED FOR 


Drs. STRAND & STRAND 


♦ ♦ 


CHIROPRACTORS 


♦ ♦ 


Graduates of the Famous Palmer School of Chiropractic 

AFFECTIONS of any of the following | < || _ 

parts may be caused by nerves im* - 

pinged at the spine by a subluxated | 

brain vertebra. 1 

eyes 

Chiropractic 

(SPINAL) _ 

Adjustments fc 

win » 

Remove the 
Cause of ^ 



EARS 
NOSE _ 

THROAT 
ARMS 
HEART 
LUNCS 
LIVER 
STOMACH 
PANCREAS 
SPLEEN 
KIDNEYS 
SMALL BOWEL 
LARGE BOWEL 
genital ORGANS 
THIGHS & LEGS 


PHONES: 

MAIN 5540 

AUTOMATIC 38960 

LADY 

CHIROPRACTOR 


MINNEAPOLIS Suite 333-34 Loeb Arcade Bldg. 

ST. PAUL — 330 Bremer Arcade 
Phones: Cedar 5007 — Dial 23 142 






















TOWN DESTROYED BY BANDITS—NEAR CORDOVA. 

MEXICO 






T. S. 53628 N. W. South 1793 N. W. Kenwood 550 



Burd P. Johnston & Co. 

FUNERAL DIRECTORS 
and EMBALMERS 

MRS. JOHNSTON, LADY ASSISTANT 


PARLORS 
12 WEST LAKE ST. 
3020 HENNEPIN AVE. 


Minneapolis, Minn. 


Electric Lighting Fixtures 

AND APPLIANCES 

y 

JAMES BLADON & CO. 

N. W. PHONE NICOLLET 3351 

918 MARQUETTE AVE. MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 



















FUNCHAL CATHEDRAL 












ROOT & HAGEMAN 


Minneapolis’ Finest Display of Popular- 
Price Women’s Wear 


COATS 

SUITS 

DRESSES 


BLOUSES MILLINERY 

GLOVES UNDERWEAR 

HOSIERY CORSETS 


403-5-7 Nicollet Ave. 

MINNEAPOLIS - MINNESOTA 


FRED W. HEINRICHS 

Funeral Director and Embalmer 

LADY ASSISTANT 

Parlors for Funerals Free of Charge 

N. W. Hyland 664—PHONES—Automatic 45 304 

317 Plymouth Avenue, Minneapolis, Minn. 



















FOR SALE 


SAN SALVADOR, SALVADOR 






MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 


Ladies’ Outer Apparel 

OF THE BETTER SORT 

Combining — 

STYLE, 

QUALITY 

and ECONOMY 



x h e lee 
TVYORXUARV 

Modern Undertaking 

Proprietor, R. P. LEE 
Auto. 33707 Ken. 4600 

Nicollet Ave. at W. 15th St. 
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 









IN SYDNEY HARBOR 


AUSTRALIA 




PlUSBVRrS 

BEST 

COMPLIMENTS 


WEST HOTEL CAFE 


FIRST - CLASS 

Every Day and Way 


Hennepin Avenue, 


MINNEAPOLIS 

















BEGGARS DESCRIPTION' 


VANEGAS, MEXICO 







B. R. MENZEL & CO. 

• y~"> Manufacturers and Dealers in 

Fine Furs Qf 



S X O R /\ G E 


_f\ IN Dl 


RE F* fK I RING 


For Value and Service 
comparison will prove this 

FROM THE CHEAPEST THAT’S GO 
TO THE BEST THAT’S MADE 

54 So. Seventh St. 

Minneapolis, Minn., Opp. Radisson How 



LONDON 

CHICAGO 

DETROIT 


MILWAUKEE 
MINN EAPOLIS 

RADISSON HOTEL BUILDING 


Everything Worn 

BY THE 

Well-dressed Man 

EXCEPT HIS SHOES 


PRODUCTIONS OF 

WELCH, MARGETSON & CO., 

VIRGOE, MIDDLETON & CO., 

ALLEN, SOLLY & CO., 

LLOYD, ATREE & SMITH, 

LONDON,ENG. 


LONDON REPRESENTATIVES, EST. 1779 

CAPPER, SON & CO., Ltd. 

29 REGENT STREET PICCADILLY CIRCUS, W. 

63=64 GRACE CHURCH STREET, E. C. 


EXCLUSIVE AGENTS IN MINNEAPOLIS FOR 

DUNLAP HAT5 

“THE NECKWEAR HOUSE OF AMERICA” 




















If you want 

High Grade Work 
and Right Prices 

always send your work to 


Master Cleaner and Dyer since 

1895 


1028-30 MARY PLACE 
Minneapolis, Minneapolis 






HEGENER’S 

Barbers’ Supplies 


A Full Line of Carvers, Table Cutlery, 
Pocket Cutlery and Toilet Articles, 
Manicure Scissors and Tools 


207 Nicollet Avenue, 
MINNEAPOLIS 


Main 1938 
Dial 38074 


THIRD STREET NEWS STAND 

NEWS, CIGARS, ST ATIONERY 

50 South Third Street 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 


W. J. STAPLETON 

D FUNERAL DIRECTOR H 

Auto Equipment Lady Assistant 

( South 4023 » f orrc ' Colfax 635 

office , Dia j 52 2371 1 elepnones— j res. , Dial 52 703 

705 West Lake St. 
Minneapolis, Minnesota 























COMPLIMENTS 

OF THE 


ANDREWS HOTEL 


MINNEAPOLIS 


WHITE & McNAUGHT 

JEWELERS 

Diamonds, Watches, Wedding and 
other Gifts. 


506 Nicollet Avenue, 


Minneapolis 















A HAPPY CROSS-BEARER AMAPALA, SPANISH HONDURAS 








The success of these Theatres has been built 
upon their dependability. 

ALWAYS A GOOD SHOW 


New Garrick 
New Lyric 
Strand 


BEST FILMS 
BEST MUSIC 


MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 


- Entablished 1884 —- 

H. J. SAUNDERS 

MAKER OF 

AWNINGS, HORSE & WAGON COVERS 


FLAGS, WAGON TOPS AND UMBRELLAS 


A 


. lTlE|N T' SI \ 

Camp Furniture and Wedding Canopies for Rent 


CIRCUS & SHOW TENTS 

Phones N. W. Main 1277 T. S. 33 178 


908-910 Hennepin five., Minneapolis, Minn. 

















G. L. MORRILL IN ORIENTAL GARB 







THE NEVA/ 



25-27 So. Fifth St., 


Minneapolis 


“THE TALK OF THE TOWN” 


A Rendezvous of quite unusual distinction— 
an ideal place to dine. 

—definitely refined, strikingly smart, and by far 
the most favored of all the better dining estab¬ 
lishments. 

—and the utmost assurance in food values and 
service excellence is a constant feature. 

—in fact, the more discriminating your taste, the 
more you prefer the New Mandarin. 



Note — The MANDARIN never has and never will serve liquor. 


J. A. SANTRIZOS 


(Sariint of uJastg SaiittW 


CIGARS, CANDIES, ICE CREAM, FLOWERS, FRUITS 


601 MARQUETTE 


601 HENNEPIN 


TWO STORES 


GEO. A. SANTRIZOS, Manager 


MINNEAPOLIS 


MINNESOTA 









•r 




RUINS AT EPHESUS 



Lincoln said -. 

“We shall sooner have the fowl by 
hatching the egg than by smashing it” 

'T'HIS quaint but forceful philosophy of Lincoln’s 
1 may aptly be applied to banking. The Lincoln 
National Bank invariably gives the same consider¬ 
ation and attention to the wants of the small depo¬ 
sitor as to those of the large one, believing firmly 
that only through the good will and cooperation of 
its small depositors can it be of maximum service 
to the community as a banking institution. 

Total Resourses $2,000,000.00 

Four Per Cent on Saving Deposits. Safety Deposit Boxes. 

LINCOLN NATIONAL BANK 

Hennepin at Ninth 

MINNEAPOLIS, - MINNESOTA 

HOTEL LINCOLN 

NICOLLET AVENUE and NINTH STREET 

Opened September 1st, 1918 
125 Rooms—100 with Bath and Toilet 

Furniture and equipment entirely new. All rooms have outside 

exposure electric elevator and local and long distance phones. 

WM. B. CAMFIELD F. S. GREGORY 















COSTA RICA 


A TROPICAL VIEW 


Imported Woolen 

/| Tailoring and Workmanship that 
^N| “Quality” Clothes Should Have 



WM. L. WOLFSON 

Finest /Wen’s Tailor 


33 South Fourth St., Minneapolis, Minn. 
Gentlemen’s Suits and Overcoats 
to Order $75.00 to $135.00 


There is a Reason for My Prices : 
YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR 


NICKELS & SMITH 

REAL ESTATE, RENTALS, 
LOANS AND INSURANCE 

Sll Nicollet Avenue 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 








Trine Devil 

I IN 

Mexico! 


By G. L. MORRILL 


A Literary Earthquake 

That Shook Two Continents 


350 PAGES ATROCITY PHOTOS 
$1.00 POSTPAID 

ADDRESS: 

G l 3356 Tenth Avenue So. 

• IVHJl I Hi, Minneapolis, N 


GAMBLE & LUDWIG 

WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN 

| DRUGS, PAINTS, OILS, VARNISHES, BRUSHE S ETC. 

N. W. NICOLLET 6125 
AUTOMATIC 39 268 


901-903 Hennepin Avenue 


MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA 

























Minneapolis Auto and 

Tractor School 

PREPARE NOW FOR YOUR GREATEST OPPORTUNITY 
Get into the Auto and Tractor Business 

Thousands of towns 
and rural communities 
are without Garages. 
Garages and Tractor 
Manufacturers need 
skilled mechanics. Truck 
demand phenomenal. 
The Automobile and 
Tractor industry is in 
the midst of its greatest 
period of intensive de¬ 
velopment and exten¬ 
sive use. 

Come to Minneapolis, the Auto and Tractor center of the 
Northwest and take a Life Scholarship in the Minneapolis 
Auto and Tractor c chool, the most thorough school of this 
kind in the world. Send for Catalogue. 

226-228 Second Street N. MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 


LAKE, VIEW CONFECTIONARY 

A CHOICE ASSORTMENT OF 

Candies, Fruits, Flowers, Ices, Soft Drinks and Cigars 

GEANAKOPLOS BROS, and GUST J. FORCHAS, Props. 

Kenwood 5526 Auto 51 527 

Hennepin Ave. at Lake St. MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 























WHERE BOLIVAR DIED 


SAN PERRO, COLOMBIA 



A sparkling cereal drink with a 
smacking, fine flavor. It is sure 
to prove a delicious delight and 
you’ll like it better than any other 
beverage you have tried. It’s 
bound to be popular with the 
entire family. 

Phone for a case to be delivered 
to your home. 

Gluek Brewing Company 
Minneapolis 

N. W. East 93 Automatic 46631 

“Brewers of Beverages for 62 Years.” 






























CROSSING THE JORDAN 












HOME LIGHTING 

The Effect of Good 
Illumination in the Home 

Have you ever noticed in which home there is the greatest 
cheerfulness? In the home poorly lighted, or in the home 
well lighted? If you. have not, let us tell you. 

Cheerfulness Comes 

Only to the Home Well Lighted 

I» it not worth your careful consideration when we realize 
that a little extra light will bring about the difference 
between gloominess and cheerfulness? And, too, when it 
costs no more to bring about cheerfulness, is it not worth 
your careful consideration? 

Electric Service has made possible such results. 

THE MINNEAPOLIS GENERAL 
ELECTRIC COMPANY 




Nicollet at Seventh MINNEAPOLIS 


-OUR- 

INDIVIDUAL SHOP 

-FOR- 

Girls-Misses-Children 


F EATURES Specialized interpretations of the 
Mode in choice aplenty of Fabric and Fashion 
for all the happy legion of Girlhood. 

SUITS COATS WRAPS FROCKS 
SKIRTS MIDDIES 

HEADWEAR 

A T Prices that meet every plan of expenditure, 
for those economically inclined or those of 
more lavish fancy. 


















































































































































Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: July 2003 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

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